A TERRORible Haunting
by Aquarian Wolf
Summary: TZ:TOTHM crossover. A sequel to Ghosts Numbers 1,000 and 1,001. After 13 years, Myrriah returns to Gracey Manor and meets some former Hollywood stars. But are these ghosts who they appear to be,or are they straight out of the Twilight Zone?
1. The Return of a Friend

A/N: Howdy y'all! First off, I don't own The Haunted Mansion or The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, Disney does. Myrriah, Dustin, Courtney, and Paul are my own creations. Secondly, if you haven't read "Ghosts Numbers 1,000 and 1,001", I suggest doing so. It doesn't play a very big role in this, but throughout the story, there will be references to it. Reviews are very much appreciated!

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**A TERRORible Haunting**

Chapter One: The Return of a Friend 

"It was a dark and stormy night"would be a rather poor opening for the author to use, not only because it is terribly cliché, but also because it is a vast understatement. Dark clouds encased the crescent moon, smothering any possible light. Huge buckets of rain poured down far too quickly for windshield wipers to be of any good use. Thunder roared, making it sound as if the very heavens were shattering.

Looking very sinister amidst this torrent was an old Dutch-Gothic mansion, an abode that seemed about as inviting as the storm raging outside. If the foreboding house itself was not frightening enough, ancient, cracked tombstones littered the lawn. They seemed to scream, "Death surrounds this home!"

No one in his or her right mind would be out in a night like this, going to a place like that. But, sure enough, a lone being half ran, half limped up the mansion's long driveway and made its way to the house.

Silently, for the creaking was greatly overpowered by the thunder, the front door opened and the dark figure stepped inside. Lightning streaked across the starless black sky, illuminating the foyer for only a brief second. It was not enough light for a certain observer to discern the intruder's features, but that did not matter to him. The point was that someone had entered his home uninvited, and he knew how to handle trespassers. He just had to wait for the right moment to attack.

A light _tap _echoed in the room, followed by the squeak of a soaked sneaker. Whoever this intruder was, the observer speculated, he needed a cane to walk. This realization almost made him feel a stab of guilt, but he quickly brushed it aside. Shame was an emotion he did not like to associate himself with and his ego definitely would not allow it.

_Tap…squeak…tap…squeak… _The figure made his way to the grand fireplace. After fumbling in his pockets for a moment, he took out a match, lit it, and tossed it onto the firewood. Dull, flickering light, more reminiscent of a flashlight with a dying battery than of the blaze of a fire, cast an eerie glow in the foyer. After carefully placing the cane on the floor, he crouched in front of the smoldering logs and held out his gloved hands to warm them.

Even with this new light, it was difficult to tell what the person looked like. Sharp, dancing shadows obscured his features. He wore a long, black, leather coat. The collar of it was up, hiding any facial features below a pair of stylish glasses. An old bowler derby that seemed a little too big for the wearer made distinguishing the hair impossible. Simple blue jeans and black high tops completed the outfit.

After warming himself for a few minutes, the stranger took off his gloves. The watcher, who had been hiding in the shadows behind the "visitor", stepped forward, smirking wickedly. Before he could open his mouth to speak, his intended victim took off his bowler derby, causing a long, dark blond braid to tumble down. Then, the stranger took off the coat, revealing a maroon sweater and a curvy, definitely feminine form that had been hidden underneath of it.

The observer smiled smugly, not taken aback in the least bit. Just because his "guest" was a woman did not mean his plans would be changed in any way. In a strong, velvety voice, he proclaimed, "Welcome, foolish mortal!"

The young woman turned and her face lit with a grin when she saw the ghost. "G. G.!" she cried out happily.

"G.G.?" He stared blankly at the slender, twenty-something-years-old woman as she stood up unsteadily.

She picked up her cane, a black pole with a curved gold handle that was carved in the shape of a dragon's head. Leaning on it coolly, she said, "You don't remember me do you?" With her green eyes twinkling mischievously, she added, "Rampaging emus ring a bell?"

George Gracey grinned as he finally recognized the girl. "Miss Harolds?"

"In the flesh," said Myrriah.

* * *

"I'm sorry it's been so long since I've paid you a visit, Mr. Gracey, but things have been a little," Myrriah faltered for the right word, "hectic." She was sitting on a small, dust-coated couch in the foyer and George was sitting on a sofa across from her.

Victoria bustled into the room, carrying a mug of hot cocoa. "Here you are, dear, something to warm your bones." The plump redhead, George's aunt, handed the girl the steaming cup and then sat down beside her.

"Thanks," said Myrriah, taking a sip. She didn't ask where the ghost had gotten the cocoa, and felt that the topic was best left alone. "The last time I was here was for that Halloween party, remember?"

Victoria smiled. "That was so much fun! You were dressed up as Ezra, and your brother wore a costume to look like Georgie."

George winced when he heard his aunt's nickname for him.

"That was thirteen years ago," Myrriah chuckled. With a wistful sigh, she looked over the room. "I've actually missed the old place."

George cleared his throat.

"And you, too," she quickly added.

"How's Miss Carlson doing?" asked George.

"Miss Carlson has been Mrs. Burton for two years now. I was driving up to visit them and to see their new baby. Courtney and Paul dubbed me their little girl's godmother. The truth is, I'm here because my car broke down about half a mile down the road and I can't reach anyone on my cell phone."

The spirits stared at her blankly.

"Um, it's a small, portable telephone," Myrriah explained. She took it out of her pocket and held it up for them to see. George reached for it and she pulled it back. "Just look," she warned sternly, knowing his love for tinkering with any gizmos he could get his hands on. "Anyway, I think the storm's messing up the reception, so I was hoping I could stay here until the weather clears up." She batted her eyelashes andsmiled hopefully.

"Of course, dear," said Victoria.

George nodded. "I'll have Prudence find a room for you so you can get some rest."

"That's not necessary, I can find one on my-"

"PRUDENCE!" George bellowed.

A candelabrum floated into the foyer, its carrier invisible. In a dull, nasal tone, a voice asked, "You rang, sir?"

"Yes, find a bedroom for our guest, and make sure the blankets and pillows are nice and clean, please. And chase out any spiders you find. Those things are huge." He shuddered.

"Maybe I'll just sleep in the car," Myrriah suggested warily.

"Nonsense, it's no trouble, right Prudence?"

Prudence sighed wearily. "No sir, no trouble at all, it just requires me searching through room after room after room to find a suitable bed that isn't currently being used by any of the nine hundred and ninety-nine inhabitants, and then I just have to find some sheets that aren't covered by seventy years worth of dust." After another long and dreary sigh, the candelabrum turned and floated out. "No trouble at all."

"How's Dustin?" asked Myrriah. She had fond memories of the good-natured Englishman whose beloved buggy she had wrecked. "I still feel guilty about the hearse."

"He left this morning to go pick up some guests," said George.

"Guests? Like, ghost guests?"

George nodded. "Business has been… Well to put it quite frankly, horrible. We've gotten hardly any visitors in the past ten years. Some teenagers come around every once in a while, but they're not exactly interested in seeing ghosts." He cleared his throat. "And scaring them is getting increasingly difficult. Do you have any idea how much of a blow to the ego it is when you put on your most horrific act and all you get is, 'Dude, I'm trying to make out'?" He shuddered again. "Today's youth…" he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What about the guests?" prompted Myrriah.

"I've decided to update our image a little bit and add some pizzazz. I put a haunt wanted ad in the _Ghoul Gazette_ and got a reply."

Myrriah giggled so hard she snorted. "You're kidding, right?"

George shook his head. "I'm _dead_ serious. We've got a group of some of the greatest actors of Hollywood's golden age to help us bring in some hauntees. Dustin should be back tomorrow morning with them. If it's all right, I'd love for you to meet them."

"Sounds fun," said Myrriah thoughtfully. "I'd like to talk to Dustin before I leave anyway."

"Oh sure," whined a voice dripping with sarcasm, "you want to talk to _Dustin_. Nevermind poor, ol' Ezra."

"And poor ol' Phineas," chimed another voice.

"Or Gus!" a third sobbed loudly.

All three men materialized in front of her. Phineas said, "My word Ezra, is this really that wiry whelp that haunted here all those years ago?"

"Can't be," said Gus looking her over, "she's too pretty."

Myrriah chuckled and tried not to blush. "You say that like I was ugly before."

Ezra nudged Phineas playfully with his elbow and whispered, "Kinda makes you regret being dead, eh?" He winked.

"What have my three favorite cons been up to?" Myrriah asked.

"That's all you have to say to us after thirteen years?" said Phineas. "You don't call, you don't write, you don't visit."

"Things have been…" Again she faltered. "…tough. I've had to deal with ongoing physical therapy, a surgery, high school and college, and my job. The accident left me with some nerve problems that have gotten worse over the years, hence the cane."

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Ezra said, surprisingly sincere. "How's your friend?"

"Courtney's fine. She didn't have any problems after the wreck. She and Paul got married a couple of years ago, and just had a kid. Paul's a photographer for some supernatural phenomenon magazine, and Courtney plays in a band for a local jazz club."

"What about you?" Victoria asked.

"I run a used book store, and I've been working on a novel for the past few years."

"Oh, that's fascinating," gushed Victoria. "What's it about?"

With an impish little half smile Myrriah replied, "A couple of harebrained ghosts with a lot of dumb luck." She yawned.

Right on cue, the floating candelabrum glided back into the foyer. "Your room is ready, miss Harolds."

"Thanks Prudence." Unsteadily, Myrriah stood up, cane in hand, and followed the invisible spirit. Before entering the hallway, she paused and turned. "It was great seeing you all again." Then she _tapped _all the way to her room.

Victoria sighed with alook of pity on her face. "Poor girl."

"A limp is better than the alternative," said George. "She could be dead." He turned to Ezra, Phineas, and Gus. "Her car's broke down. Think you can fix it?"

"We're your satanic mechanics," Ezra said. "There ain't no make or model we haven't seen. So long as we got the tools, we can fix it."

Phineas snapped his fingers and his carpetbag appeared beside him. He opened it and looked inside. "Yep, we've got everything."

George looked out the window. The storm had lessened, but it was still pouring. "Great, get started on it first thing tomorrow morning."

* * *

Some more A/N: "Satanic mechanic" is a very pathetic attempt to get some sort of _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ tribute in my story. The cane Myrriah has is a replica of a cane I have, but the dragon handle on mine also serves as the handle for a small sword that's hidden in the cane. (Isn't that just awesome!) 


	2. Lily and the Cuddly Crocodile

Chapter Two: Lily and the Cuddly Crocodile

The rays of the rising sun somehow fought their way through the dingy glass and into the bedroom. Myrriah buried her head under the pillow to block out the dream-shattering light. Suddenly, she felt something drop onto the top of the pillow with a _thud_! Whatever it was, it was not so heavy that she could not lift her head up, but it was just enough to be an annoyance. She blindly reached over and grabbed her glasses off of a bedside table, pulled them underneath the pillow, and put them on. Knowing that she would eventually have to look at whatever had dived onto the cushion, she pulled her head out from under it and came face-to-face with the largest spider she had ever seen.

It was a giant orange beast with a pair of dripping fangs and long, hairy legs. Multiple shiny ebony eyes followed her as she slowly and carefully slid back. For every few inches she moved, it took several steps towards her. She finally reached the edge of the bed and she stepped onto the cold, wooden floor. Keeping her eyes on the arachnid, she reached for her cane. "Steady," she murmured. The creature crouched, as if preparing to pounce.

Myrriah wielded her weapon above her head, ready to bring it down onto the eight-legged monstrosity.

It tensed.

She tensed.

A pain like thousands of fiery pinpricks raced down her left leg. It cramped and she fell with a scream. Right at that moment, the spider jumped. She clenched her teeth, picked up the cane again, and swung it like a bat. The gold dragon head made contact with the orange attacker and with a sickening _squish _it hit the wall, splattering guts across the room.

"Well," she said as she wiped slimy, green spider innards off her glasses, "that was fun." Using her cane for support, she stood up and hobbled over to the bed. She massaged her leg for a few minutes and tried to work out a muscle knot in her calf.

_It's getting worse, _she thought worriedly. _Still, it's not as bad as the time last week when it woke me out of a sound sleep. _The spasm had been so severe that her screaming had woken up the neighbors, who dialed 911.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright light coming from the spider's corpse. She looked up and watched as the light began to take shape. After a few seconds it dawned on her what was happening.

"You've got be kidding me!"

The spider ghost turned to her and let out an unearthly shriek. It ran at full speed and then leapt for her face…

…and was caught in the jaws of a fat, ghostly crocodile. Myrriah scrambled onto the bed and stared in shock at the scaly apparition. The transparent reptile smacked his jaws together happily and looked up at Myrriah as if he expected her to throw him more treats. The young woman, however, seemed torn between patting him on the head and saying "Good boy!" or just running out of the room.

"Oh, so sorry! I've been looking everywhere for him!" cried a woman as she poked her head into the room. She was young, maybe a couple of years older than Myrriah. She had large, hazel eyes and a heart shaped face. Ringlets of brown hair fell nearly to her chin, and the rest of her hair was pulled up into a little bun. An orange parasol was clutched in her dainty, gloved hands. Her pink dress with its flowery design on the skirt, and her pink ballet slippers gave her an air of femininity that did not seem to suit a woman with a pet crocodile.

"Nathaniel, bad croc! Bad!" the woman chastised. With the parasol she lightly smacked his head. The creature cringed sheepishly. "I'm sorry, is he bothering you?"

Myrriah closed her mouth and shook her head silently. "He's…yours?" she managed to ask.

"I guess you could say that. He's been following me around for years." She stuck out her hand for Myrriah to shake. "Hi, I'm Lily, Lily Gracey. You must be Miss Harolds. We didn't get the chance to meet before."

Myrriah shook her hand and studied her for a moment. "I recognize you! Your portrait hangs in the gallery." She looked at the crocodile. "I take it he was the one waiting for you."

"Yeah," said Lily, glaring at the cringing croc. "Stupid bugger choked on my foot and we've been together ever since." She smiled and gave him an affectionate pat on his head. "I named him Nathaniel. He gets a bit snappy every once in a while but a good dose of discipline takes care of that." She held up the parasol and waved it. "He's really just a big puppy dog once you get to know him and, you know, try to not think about the whole human-eating aspect of him."

"But he killed you."

Lily sighed. "He's just an animal, and I've decided to let bygones be bygones. Besides, how could he not have eaten me? I'm just so sweet." She smiled and then frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I've been with George for too long; his sense of humor is getting to me."

Looking back up at Myrriah, she said, "Come on, let's go to the kitchen and get you a nice breakfast. The boys are working on your car, and the guests should be here any minute."

"Sounds good to me," said Myrriah as she followed Lily out the door. All the way to the kitchen she made sure to keep an eye on Nathaniel, who seemed just a little too eager to be near her shins.

* * *

A/N: Lily is a fan created name. George is her husband in a lot of fan lore. Nathaniel is of course a tip of the hat to Nathaniel Parker who played Edward Gracey in the Haunted Mansion movie. 


	3. Breakfast and a Broken Car

Chapter Three: Breakfast and a Broken Car

The kitchen was surprisingly tiny, especially when it was compared to the other rooms of Gracey Manor. It did have the essentials though, which were certainly a great deal larger than average size appliances. A stovetop counter with several cabinets underneath of it was immediately to the left as one entered. Against the wall directly across from the door was a large icebox that had another counter with a giant sink to its left. Against the right wall was a great oven. To the right of the oven, a few feet away, was a cupboard that was taller than Myrriah. Most of its shelves were filled with canned goods and boxes with labels that were too dusty to read.

"I know there's something edible around here," muttered Lily.

"Of course there is, dear," said George as he materialized. Nathaniel sniffed at his ankles and opened his mouth as if to bite them off. George very nonchalantly kicked the croc's snout with the heel of his Italian loafer. Glaring at the reptile, he hissed, "Knock it off or I make you into my newest pair of shoes, got it?" With a broad smile, he looked back up at the two women. "We always offer plenty of commodities, even for our mortal guests." He opened a cabinet and took out a bright red box. "Okay, all we have is cereal, but still…"

"Beggars can't be choosers," said Myrriah with a smile. Lily placed a bowl and a spoon on the counter and Myrriah took the box from George. On its front was a demented looking leprechaun. "Yucky Charms," she read with a chuckle. "That's cute."

"We keep with a theme, you know."

"Let me guess, the milk is green, right?" asked Myrriah as she limped over to the icebox.

"No," replied George, "but it is nonfat."

"You're a sick puppy." Myrriah took out the carton, walked back to the counter, and began to pour her cereal. "Hey!" she cried. "There aren't any marshmallows! You're a cruel, cruel man Gracey!"

* * *

Less than half an hour after eating breakfast, Myrriah was sitting on the couch in the foyer with her left leg propped up on the table. She had found a small pillow to place underneath of her foot. Lily was tending to the conservatory's flowers. Victoria was probably in the ballroom, chatting with some other spirits. George was in his office, tinkering with something. _Come to think of it_, Myrriah thought, _I haven't seen my cell phone since last night_.

Everything was calm and serene. Not one door handle rattled, not a single wraith screamed, and the bride in the attic wasn't throwing a tantrum. All she could hear was the light _thump_ of a birdie, (possibly a dead canary), being smacked back and forth in a game of badminton that had been set up in the backyard cemetery.

It was disturbing.

As much as she enjoyed peace and quiet, she wanted to hear the sounds of the Gracey Manor she remembered: the gunshots from Sewell and Huet dueling, Emily's overly dramatic shouting, and the Phantom Five's singing. Even Mr. Baker, the crotchety musician, wasn't playing his organ in the ballroom. Even if a guest had not shown up, they still tried to be prepared.

_Have they given up? _she thought with alarm. _Have the ghosts decided to partake in a less "active" retirement? _It was a depressing idea. _What would Liberty Square be without its haunted mansion? Nothing but a bunch of shops full of smelly candles that tourists pay too much for, _she answered her own question.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the foyer door creaked open. Looking behind her, she saw Gus slink in. "Hey, Gus. What's up?"

The little bearded man seemed confused by this statement. With a shrug, he guessed, "The sky?"

Myrriah shook her head. "No, I mean, how's it going?"

Gus pondered this for a moment. "Good news, bad news."

She sighed. "Give me the bad news."

"Flooded last night. Car was swept away."

"WHAT?" she cried, standing up as quickly as she could. Her heart pounded in her chest. _I still had five payments left on it! Okay, so it had been a P.O.S. But it was MY P.O.S.! _

"We found it. In a field with cows."

Myrriah's breathing relaxed a bit.

"A cow sat on it."

She flopped back down onto the couch. "What's the good news?"

Again, Gus had to give this serious consideration. "It hasn't fallen apart. Ezra and Phineas are trying to fix it."

"Well, I guess that's a little bit of a reassurance."

* * *

MEANWHILE…

"That ought a do it," said Ezra as he slid out from underneath the small, black car. The pasture was covered in almost three inches of water, but this of course didn't affect him. He tossed the wrench he was holding into Phineas's carpetbag, which was drenched and its bottom was covered in mud.

Phineas tapped the hood. "I can't get the dent out." The portly spirit glared at the bovine responsible for the mishap. In return, the cow chewed her cud and mooed in his face, spraying chewed grass through his head. "Eww!"

"Don't worry about it. The important thing is to get the car started." The skeletal spook sat in the driver's seat and jammed the keys into the ignition. After several attempts, and a lot of sputtering, the car came to life. "She's gonna run, just not very fast. Or very well."

Phineas tossed his bag onto the backseat. "The least we can do is get it to the mansion. Maybe now Myrriah can call someone to tow it." He started to climb onto the passenger seat.

"What are you doing?" asked Ezra.

"Well I was just going to ride shotgun."

Ezra pointed ahead of him. "Do you see that?"

"Yeah, it's a hill—Oh no! I'm not!"

"You just have to push for a little bit. It's a dinky hill, Phinny. It's just not dinky enough for the car to make it over with a little assistance."

"Okay, then, why don't you push it?"

"'Cause I gotta drive. Plus, I'm older."

"By about six months!"

"C'mon. Do it for mom."

"Your mom or my mom?"

"Oh. Right. Nevermind. Do it for dad."

Grumbling, Phineas stepped out of the vehicle. He stomped all the way to the bumper. He turned his head back. "Dad actually lived with you! Therefore, you should be back here!"

"Not after the divorce, he didn't! Just shut up and push the stupid car!"

Groaning and straining, Phineas managed to get it halfway up the hill before the automobile suddenly died and started to roll backwards. "No, no, no!" The car won the battle. Reacting quickly, he—for lack of a better term—made himself un-solid. It _whooshed _through him, raced back down the hill, and came to a stop in the pasture.

Ezra opened the door and stepped out. Then he slammed the door as hard as he could, making the vehicle shake violently. "Screw it, let's leave it and tell her it rolled into a lake. She's better off without this hunk of junk anyway. I'll call a cab and even pay for the fare, just as long as I don't have to see that—" His ranting was interrupted as a ghostly stretch limo sped by.

The limo stopped, and then backed up, and then once again stopped, this time in front of the two men. The black tinted window rolled down and the driver leaned over the empty passenger seat and looked out. With a good-natured grin, he said, "I say gents, it seems as if you're having a spot of trouble. Would you like to hitch a ride?"

"Would we?" cried Phineas. "Of course! Thanks, Dust." He went to grab his bag.

"You're welcome," said Dustin T. Dust. "By the way, whose motorcar is that?"

"It belongs to the Harolds girl," answered Ezra.

"She's not in it, I hope!" Dustin said worriedly. "It looks as if a bloody tree fell on it!"

"Nah, she's back at the mansion, safe and sound. And it was a cow that did that."

"Driver, why are we stopped?" demanded a snooty voice from somewhere in the back of the limousine.

Dustin turned around and called out, "Just, um, talking to someone Mr. London." Turning back to Phineas and Ezra, he pushed his rectangular spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and whispered, "You wouldn't mind sitting on the bumper, would you? They're a little touchy about space."

"Space?" snapped Ezra.

"They've got a whole stretch limo!" Phineas added.

Dustin shrugged one shoulder and offered them an apologetic smile. "Well, these Hollywood types are a bit eccentric."

* * *

AN: I don't own Lucky Charms. Actually, I've got a box in my cupboard, but that's not quite the same thing. :p 


	4. Hollywood Ghosts

Hollywood Ghosts

Myrriah and Gus stepped out of the mansion and onto the front porch as she heard the car roar down the cobblestone road. Water sprayed up in great torrents on either side of the stretch limousine as it cruised across the soaked street. As it drew nearer, she could just make out the forms of Ezra and Phineas sitting on the bumper, looking very miffed. Gus, of course, laughed at this. The limo rolled to a stop in the driveway.

Phineas and Ezra grumbled as they hopped down off the bumper. "Must be a full car if you guys had to sit back there," said Myrriah with a friendly smile, trying to make light of whatever situation had them so peeved.

Ezra scowled, his usual skeletal grin contorted into a frown. With a mock British accent and a nasal tone, he snapped, "No, they're just 'touchy about space'."

"Well, at least you boys have a ride home, whereas myself, however, am without a vehicle." She furrowed her brow. "Where's my car?"

"Oh, it's in the middle of a cow pasture," said Phineas conversationally as he picked up his carpetbag. "You oughta junk the heap and get yourself something nicer, with a little more class, something more befitting a lady such as yourself." A large smile lit his round face and Myrriah couldn't help smiling back. If the hitchhikers had to be classified individually, Phineas would be "the sweet one" or even "the one with a little bit of a conscience". "We're sorry, ma'am," he continued. "We did all we could. You should just get it towed. Ezra said he'd pay for a cab fare for you."

"I didn't really mean…" Ezra began.

"That's so nice of you!" gushed Myrriah.

"Yeah, that's me," grumbled Ezra. "Nice." He forced a fake smile for her, and as soon as she walked over to the limo, he crept up behind Phineas with his hands out as if he was going to strangle him.

"You _did _say…" said Phineas coolly without even turning around.

"I was caught up in a moment of blind rage!" He sneered at Gus. "What are you laughing at, shorty?"

"Sucker!" cackled Gus.

The driver side door opened up and Dustin stepped out. He caught sight of Myrriah and grinned and waved. "Good morning, Miss Harolds!"

"Good morning, Mr. Dust!" She had been very close to the genial, often anxiety prone Englishman and had regarded him as sort of surrogate uncle when she haunted the mansion thirteen years ago. It had been Dustin who had driven them to the Liberty Square Hospital when she and Courtney found out that their bodies were being kept on life support systems, and Dustin had been the one to go into the mansion with her when Leota was wreaking havoc, and he had been the first friend she made in Gracey Manor.

"Sorry about your motorcar. I'm sure it can be fixed, though. You just need some _professionals _to work on it." He smirked at Ezra and Phineas teasingly, who in turn, mimicked him childishly. After giving Myrriah a hug, he asked, "My, you've grown. How've you been? I take it the cane isn't for mere decoration." His green eyes darted onto the object in question.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said with a light, hollow chuckle. "Sciatica-something-or-other. Nothing to worry about." She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. When she first met him, he said something that always stuck with her: It always bothers me to see someone so young here. He genuinely cared for people and was especially sympathetic towards children. After they had arrived at the hospital, he had been so happy for Courtney and Myrriah. Telling him that she had lived just to develop severe health problems afterwards would probably devastate the poor man.

"Um, Courtney and Paul just had a baby girl," she said, eager to take the subject off of herself.

"That's wonderful!" Dustin beamed. "I do hope they bring the child here sometime."

"Nothin' like emotionally scarring a kid," quipped Ezra, making Myrriah suppress chuckles.

"I never meant-" Dustin was cut off as a female voice called out from inside the car, "Driver!" Dustin winced. "Sorry, miss Crosset!" He dashed to a car door and opened it. Out stepped a beautiful blond in a pearl white gown wearing matching gloves and holding a matching clutch. Everything about her, her looks, her voice, brought to mind classy actresses of the silver screen.

Dustin smiled shyly and took off his top hat and bowed. "Welcome to Gracey Manor."

"Thank you," she said, smiling back at him. To Ezra, Phineas, and Gus, she said, "Our bags are in the trunk. Remember, we don't tip if everything is not handled with the utmost care."

Phineas was indignant. "Do we look like footmen to you, lady?"

Ezra clamped a hand over his mouth. "Phinny, let these people think what they want; they're loaded!" He removed his hand.

Phineas wiped his mouth. "Cha-ching?"

"Cha-ching!"

"Right, in the trunk you say?" And off the trio went to collect the luggage.

A tall, sophisticated looking man wearing a tuxedo stepped out after the woman. He dusted off invisible dirt from his sleeves and straightened his jacket. A thin mustache sat just above his upper lip. He sniffed. "A little less… grand than I expected." His British accent sounded even more upper class than Dustin's. Upon seeing Myrriah, he cocked a dark eyebrow skeptically. "This isn't _your _home, is it?"

"No," she said flatly, not in the least bit impressed by him. But she tried not to be rude. "I'm Myrriah Harolds. I'm just staying for a short time." She cocked an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Gilbert London, actor. This is the lovely Carolyn Crossent, singer, and also with us is…"

"Hi everyone!" cried out the most sugary voice Myrriah had ever heard. A young girl, probably no more than ten, hopped out of the limo. She had perfect little white teeth in her perfect little smile and perfect little dimples in a perfect little face surrounded by perfect little blond curls. "Golly gosh, it's so _wonderful _to be here." She did a perfect little curtsey in her perfect little pink dress. Myrriah could swear she heard a perfect little _ting _when the girl grinned.

"Sally Shine," Gilbert groaned softly. "Child star. And her nanny, Emmaline Patridge." As he finished the introduction, a stern, solid looking older woman got out. She was clutching a large handbag and wearing a hat that seemed far too tiny for her. She wore a simple maroon wool coat over her dress, and flat heeled shoes.

"Nice to meet you," said Myrriah in what she hoped passed for sincerity. What had George been thinking?

"D-don't f-forget m-me!" shouted a pathetic voice as a short man in a maroon uniform clumsily clambered out. "I-I'm Dewey Todd, bellhop." He ran to the trunk. "D-did someone already get the luggage?" He looked positively crushed. "B-but I'm supposed to get the luggage!"

"Calm down, Dewey," said Carolyn. "You've been a nervous wreck since…well, ever, but, you've been extra nervous since the trip began. Go inside and relax for a while, it's been taken care of."

"How can I relax? There's no one to care for the hotel and-and someone else is doing my job!"

"Switch to decaf, little man," said Ezra as he walked back out. "George is waiting for all of you in the foyer."

"Ooh, _foyer_, sounds swank," said Carolyn. "Come on, let's go. We don't want to keep our host waiting."

Myrriah and Dustin lingered behind. "Do you get some bad ju-ju off them?" she asked the driver. "Dustin?" He had a dreamy look on his face. "Dustin?"

"Huh?" He blinked several times. "Oh, right, yes, odd." He sighed wistfully. "Practically _bewitching._"

She arched an eyebrow and followed his bespectacled gaze to Carolyn.

* * *

A/N: The names of the ghosts come from the Tower of Terror movie, but the personalities are different. (Just wait 'till you see Sally Shine's true colors…tee hee hee…) "Cha-ching" was a small reference to the movie. One of the characters, Q, said it quite a bit. 

Melanie Gracey: The spider from the second chapter is on the WDW ride. In one of the hallways, there's a whole bunch of giant, bright orange spiders. Thanks for all the kind reviews!


	5. Towering Troubles

Towering Troubles

The ghosts stepped into the foyer. Myrriah closed the front door behind her before joining them. Faintly, she heard an organ playing. She recognized it as the tune of "Grim, Grinning Ghosts", the anthem for Gracey Manor. Only the ancient, short, flickering candles of the overhead chandelier provided any kind of light in the room. There was a sort of scent in the air as well. It was a musty, dusty, earthy smell that Myrriah found oddly comforting. It reminded her of her bookshop. In the grand fireplace, the logs were smoldering. George always knew how to create the perfect atmosphere.

Dustin cleared his throat softly and tapped Myrriah on the shoulder, wanting to get her attention without disrupting the mood. "I've got, uh, some business to attend to," he whispered. "I'll speak with you later."

"See you later," she whispered back. She gave him a short wave before he disappeared. Looking around, she noticed that the hitchhikers were gone, too. _Perhaps I should leave as well, _she thought. _George has probably got some sort of skit in mind, and I need to call a cab and Courtney anyway. _She was jolted out of her thoughts by George Gracey's deep, velvety voice.

"When hinges creak in doorless chambers," something creaked, "and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls", something shrieked, "when candle lights flicker where the air is deathly still", the candle flames shuddered, "that is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight…"

Myrriah grinned. He really was an old-school haunter with a lot of class.

"Hmm," muttered Gilbert critically. "Not bad…for an amateur. I say, a rather good set-up, old sport, but I hardly think it would instill terror into the souls of visitors."

George appeared before the group. "You say that as if you expect me to give them heart attacks, Mr. London. Our goal here at Gracey Manor is to entertain, sir." He smiled and held out his hand. "George Gracey, master of this possessed Manor."

Gilbert shook George's hand. "Looks about as possessed as a Hitchcock set," he sniffed, casting an appraising eye over the room.

"I always liked Alfred's style," said Carolyn. "Personally, I prefer the old techniques. Remember off camera kills and using shadows and old-fashioned jump scares? They don't do those nowadays."

"That's because it's not what people want now," Gilbert chided.

"Um, I like those old horror flicks," said Myrriah.

Gilbert ignored her. "What the audience wants is real, heart pounding thrills. A good adrenaline rush, not some namby-pamby 'boos'. They want to believe that they're in danger. Make their lives flash before their eyes sort of thing."

"I guess I have a lot to learn," said George. "Perhaps you're on to something, Mr. London. Why don't you folks follow me and I'll give you the grand tour? But first, I'll have Prudence bring your things to your rooms…PRUDENCE!"

A candelabrum, followed by a depressed sigh, floated into the foyer. "Yes, sir?"

"Why don't you take their luggage-" Before George could finish, Dewey quickly interrupted.

"No, no, no! I'll-I'll get 'em, sir!" He sounded positively panicked "It's my job, after all! And what is a man without his life's work?"

"Afterlife's work," Myrriah quietly joked.

Dewey looked at her and said sarcastically, "Oh, yes, very funny. You're a real comedian."

She scowled. "Maybe you should take a break long enough to pull that stick out of your-"

"Hey, hey," George cut in in a chipper tone. "Prudence, why don't you lead Dewey to the guest rooms while I show the others the house, eh?" He shot Myrriah a glare. Put off at first, she glared back at him.

"Oh, this will be ever so much fun!" gushed Sally Shine.

"Sorry, dear," Gilbert said in a voice dripping with false pity. "But the adults will be talking. Why don't you run along and do whatever it is little girls do, hmm?"

She perfectly stamped her perfect little pink shoe, making a perfect little _thump _on the carpet. "That's not fair!"

"You know," said George, "there is someone here I think you will get along splendidly with, Miss Shine." Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out, "L. L. there's someone here I want you to meet!"

Little Leota appeared. The tiny, dainty, pretty, and just plain eerie child studied the newcomers with an arched eyebrow. George nudged her as if to say, "Don't be rude." She frowned and shot him a quick look that said, "Whatever".

"Be nice," he whispered, "or you're cleaning out the mold in the mausoleums for a week."

"Hi, I'm Little Leota, but you can call me L. L."

"Why, hello!" Sally cooed. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing I've ever seen?"

L. L., who only came up to Sally's shoulder, flipped her long,black hair back and crossed her arms over her chest. She cocked an eyebrow again. The only thing that wasn't little about L. L. was her attitude.

Sally's smile seemed to wither under the stare. "I'm Sally Shine, and we're going to have so much fun together. I bet we're going to be best friends."

"That's great," said Emmaline. "Mr. Gracey, show them around and I'll keep an eye on the little ones." She sat down on a sofa as Dewey took her bag from her. He had his arms wrapped around the luggage and had Carolyn's clutch clamped in his teeth.

"This way," moaned Prudence as she led him down the hall.

"And would you two please follow me?" George asked Carolyn and Gilbert. "First is the portrait gallery…" His voice soon faded as the three spirits disappeared into the hidden gallery.

"Emmaline," began Myrriah, "what sort of place do you…" The nanny had fallen asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. "Haunt?" She sighed. She needed to find her phone so she could let Courtney know what was going on. Unfortunately, she had no clue where it was. And then there was the matter of Sally and L. L. They would be okay without adult supervision for a little while, right? After all, it's not like they could get into anything that would kill them.

"Hey, kids, would you two be all right if I slipped away for a little while? I have something I need to do. Can I trust you?"

"Oh yes, Miss Harolds," chirped Sally. "I'm sure L. L. and I can think of some wonderful games to play." She hugged L. L. tightly around the neck, making her gasp for air instinctively and claw at her captor's arms. The blonde watched as the mortal limped into the hall, her cane dully thumping on the carpet.

Once Myrriah was out of earshot, Sally shoved L. L. away from her with disgust. "One more second of that and I was about to puke."

L. L., still rubbing her throat, stared at Sally in shock.

"What are you looking at, Tiny Tim?"

"It's Little Leota, Darla Dimple," L. L. shot back. "What happened to the whole 'golly, gosh' routine?"

Sally snorted. "That's just an act. I am an actress, after all. And a great one, I might add."

L. L. rolled her eyes. Sally was more stuck up than Emily.

"Let's get a few things straight, shall we?" Sally stood over L. L. threateningly. "I don't care about your stupid haunted house, all right? I don't like you or any of your stupid friends. But I am a guest, and a respected celebrity, so you've got to do everything I say when I say it. Got it?"

L. L. stood on her tiptoes and looked Sally right in her baby blue eyes. "Or what?"

Tears formed in Sally's eyes and she snuffled. "Mr. Gracey!" she sobbed. "You'll never believe what L. L. just called me!"

Clamping a hand over the other girl's mouth, Little Leota hissed, "Okay, fine! What do you want to do?"

"Why don't we explore and see what kind of fun we can have?" She flashed perfect teeth in a perfect mean grimace.

* * *

"This is the attic," said George with a grand sweep of his arm. 

"I can see that," Gilbert said with a yawn. "Don't you people ever throw anything away?"

"Ooh, I think it looks spooky, don't you, Gilbert?" asked Carolyn. She laughed as a ghoul in tattered clothes sprang up with a shriek. "How adorable!"

"Droll," he muttered in reply. His attention was caught by the sound of a heart beating. "What's that?"

"That is one of Gracey's Manor's most popular spirits," answered George. "The divine Emily. Emily, why don't you introduce yourself?" Emily drifted over to them. "Emily, this is Gilbert London, one of the ghosts from The Hollywood Tower Hotel, an actor."

"An actor?" she exclaimed. Suddenly she went into 'depressed, forlorn, jilted bride' mode. "Oh, it's been so long since I've gotten any visitors," she sniffed tearfully. "I'm just _so _lonely in this big, dusty attic, with no one to talk to."

"What about me?" demanded the ghoul as he sprang up behind her. She gave him a swift kick in the face with her high heel shoe, knocking him back down.

"I was murdered on my wedding night." Emily wiped away a nonexistent tear. "As a constant reminder of my torment my heart beats, aching for my lost love. But he shall never return." She put her head in her hands and pretended to cry.

"Have you ever thought of a career in theatre?" asked Gilbert.

Emily looked up. "Have I? It's been my dream!" She looked off somewhere in the distance, stars in her eyes. "I can just picture it. The crowd applauding, people cheering, everyone watching _me_…"

Meanwhile, Carolyn had walked over to a broken window and was looking down at the graveyard below. "Gilbert, they have a cemetery."

"How cliché," he said as Emily prattled on.

"Well, I think it's picturesque. George, dear, do you mind if I take a look?"

George, who was sitting in a nearby rocking chair and had nearly nodded off out of boredom, snapped wide-awake. "Go ahead, Miss Crossent."

"I'll see you later, Gilbert."

"Cheerio," he waved, still half listening to Emily.

Carolyn walked down the old balcony steps that lead into the cemetery. She could hear singing coming from a short distance away. She followed it. It brought her to an old hearse buggy, with a floating harness attached to it. By the floating restraints, brush in hand, was Dustin, singing "Grim, Grinning Ghosts" as he brushed an invisible horse.

Carolyn cleared her throat. "Hi… um…driver."

Dustin stopped, his eyes wide with embarrassment. "Hello, Miss Crossent."

"Call me Carolyn."

"Call me Dustin. Uh…" He stared down at the brush dumbly. Then quickly, he said, "I'm just giving Rolly a good brushing, to keep his coat nice and sleek, you know. Just in case we get any visitors. He always likes to look his best." Rolly whinnied as if to say, "I could not care less about how I look." "I really hope you and your friends can help us, Miss Cross-I mean Carolyn."

"Well, we'll do what we can."

"It's really appreciated. Uh…" He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so nervous. He tried to think of something to say, just so she wouldn't leave. Then he wondered why he cared if she left or not.

Carolyn smiled.

_Right, gotta think of something to say. And not something completely stupid, either. _"Have you ever ridden a horse before, Carolyn?"

She shook her head. "No, actually."

"Would you like to?"

Carolyn bit her lip fearfully. "Is he tame?"

"Of course," said Dustin as he undid the harness. "Rolly wouldn't hurt a fly."

Rolly's invisible tail swatted a flying insect, splattering it against a headstone.

Dustin hoisted himself onto Rolly's back, and then outstretched his arm to pull up Carolyn. She sat behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

"I'm scared," she whimpered.

"What a coincidence," squeaked Dustin.

"What was that?"

He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't crack again. "I said, 'hold on tight'. Giddy up, Rolly!"

The horse snorted angrily.

"What's gotten into you, boy? Hey!"

Rolly reared up. Carolyn screamed.

"Rolly! Stop!" Dustin pulled on the reins in vain as Rolly bucked like a bronco. "This isn't the bloody rodeo!" Carolyn screamed as she was flung off the ghost horse.

"Carolyn!" Gilbert yelled as he and George ran towards them. The actor pulled her to her feet and embraced her. "Are you all right, dear?"

"I'm fine, Gilbert. Don't fuss."

By now, Dustin had calmed Rolly down. He slid off the horse and started to approach Carolyn. "I'm so sorry, Carolyn. Are you all right?"

"Don't you come near her," Gilbert spat. He put an arm around Carolyn's shoulders. "Come on, let's leave this stupid animal."

"He's not stupid!" shouted Dustin defensively.

Gilbert turned and scoffed. "Who said I was talking about the horse?" He laughed as he walked away.

As Dustin stepped forward, George grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him back. "Forget it, Dustin. Just let it be."

"But…"

"Go lock Rolly up and relax for the rest of the day."

"But…"

"You had a long drive all last night and this morning, Mr. Dust," George said in a tone that meant 'do as I say right now or else'. "You need to take a break, right?"

"Yes, sir," Dustin answered meekly. Taking Rolly's reins in hand, he dejectedly led him away. Right now he couldn't think of anything worse than being the Gracey chauffeur. No one was treated worse than he was, he was sure of it.

* * *

"You know what I hate?" Prudence asked Dewey as they lounged in the servant's quarters. 

"People?" Dewey answered, reclining on a tattered sofa.

"Yeah."

"You know what I hate?" Dewey asked.

"Cheap tips?"

"Yeah."

"You know what I love?" asked Prudence.

"Using their toothbrushes on the dog and then putting them back?"

There was a brief silence.

"Yeah."

* * *

A/N: The line, "When hinges creak in doorless chambers, and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls, when candle lights flicker where the air is deathly still, that is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight…" is from the Haunted Mansion ride. 

Darla Dimple was the name of the bratty child star in the Warner Bros. animated feature, _Cats Don't Dance_.

And, of course, Charles Dickens created Tiny Tim.

Thanks Melanie Gracey and alanluver for your kind reviews! I'm sorry this took so long to update!


	6. Plenty of Blues to Go Around

Plenty of Blues to Go Around

The first logical place Myrriah could think of to search for her phone was George's office. Master Gracey was usually cool, collected, and calm… until he found some new gizmo. He would run off to his office with it, giggling like a child. One could, on slow days or after a forgetful guest left, find him sitting at his desk, screwdriver in hand, taking apart some little gadget a foolish mortal had left behind. Even after an explicit "Don't touch, just look", he would ignore the warning and find some way to get his transparent hands on whatever knick-knack he wanted to tinker with. It wouldn't have been such a problem if he actually knew how to put it back together after he took it apart.

Myrriah approached the grand office door. Before she could so much as grip the intricate bronze dragon shaped handle, a nasal, high-pitched voice rang out, "Who goes there?" Rolling her eyes and groaning, she looked up to see Master Gracey's disembodied bodyguards materialize. To her left was the towering executioner, with his black hood and ax resting on his shoulder. Standing on her right was the ghost who had spoken, a scrawny knight holding his decapitated head in his hand.

"Hey guys," Myrriah began, "I need to get in there and—"

_Whoosh! _The ax stopped millimeters from her face.

"You nearly nicked my glasses!" she snapped. She took of the spectacles and examined them. "I just got these, too, and they weren't cheap!" Scowling, she put them back on. "And I even paid for transition lenses. Do you have any idea how much that costs?"

The knight scowled. "No one, except Master Gracey himself, or someone with the Master's permission, is to enter into his private chambers." He added a smug, "Humph."

Thinking quickly, Myrriah said, "I have his permission. He said, 'Miss Harolds, go right on in if you need anything'."

The executioner scratched his head. "I s'pose dat's right. Well, I's hopes you find what's youse been lookin' fer." He reached meaty hand down to open the door for her and the knight slapped it.

"Knave! We cannot just allow thee fair maiden to pass!"

"Wow, you think I'm a fair maiden?" she asked cheerfully, genuinely considering the notion.

He continued on with his knightly decree, ignoring her. "Thou must guess thee password before thou canst enter." He turned his head to face her. "M'lady guesseth thee the entry word. Then, and only then, can thee set foot into thy master's chamber."

"Um…" The fair maiden wracked her brain trying to think of something to say. _What would George have for his password? I know him well enough to make an educated guess, don't I? That vainglorious drama queen would do something he would think was tricky. His password would be…_ She grinned triumphantly. "There is no password, good sir knight," she answered haughtily. "So, why don't you scoot aside and—"

"Eerrt!" The executioner made a sound like a buzzer. "Dat's wrong, miss. It's...uh…um…"

"Georgie porgy," the knight interjected. "But now that thee fair, if empty headed, maiden knowseth it, we shall changeth it again...eth.

"Quit trying to speak Middle English, you medieval poser!" Just then, Little Leota crept out of the office. "How did she get in there?" Myrriah demanded.

L. L. scoffed. "I walked it. These guys were off taking a tea break."

"We would do nothing of the sort, you lying urchin!" snapped the knight. Then as an afterthought added, "Knave!" He held his face inches from hers. "Why werest thou in thy master's chambers?"

"If you're asking what I was doing in there, 'cause that was the basic gist I got from that bizarre sentence, Miss Perky and I were playing hide and seek. I thought I saw her run into the office."

Myrriah rubbed her temples. "You didn't see a little phone, did you? 'Bout yea big." She held out her hands three inches apart. "Shiny, black. Has 'Dead Man's Party' for the ring tone."

L. L. shook her head, black hair flying in multiple directions. "No." Shooting a glare at the bodyless bodyguards, she grabbed Myrriah's hand and dragged her into the foyer. "You've got to help me! Sally's a blonde nutca-"

"Oh, there you are!" Sally Shine gushed as she made her pink, perfect appearance at L. L.'s side. Hugging Little Leota and grinning a perfect psychotic grin, Sally turned to Myrriah and said, "I hope she hasn't been bothering you, Miss Harolds. We were playing a swell game and I just lost track of her." She batted her eyelashes. "It _won't _happen again," she ordered through clenched teeth into L. L. 's ear. She waved. "Ciao!" Holding Little Leota's wrist, she dragged her into a dark hallway and the two disappeared behind a door.

Sighing, Myrriah plopped down on the couch next to the snoring Emmaline. "Keep up the good work, Emmy," she commended, patting the ghost's shoulder. The nanny snorted and drooled in response.

"Our library is well stocked with priceless first editions," announced George as he, Gilbert, and Carolyn entered the library. It was probably the most tranquil room in the mansion. Towering bookshelves, crammed full of impressive tomes, lined the walls. Each shelf had its own glaring marble bust. A ladder rolled back and forth as books were put into their proper places by an invisible hand. "This is also the haunting ground of our very own librarian, Milton Dewey, a…" 'Hopelessly obsessive nerd' seemed a bit harsh. "… a young man who's a literary connoisseur. How you doing, Dewey?"

The librarian didn't materialize, but stayed invisible and continued organizing books. "Very busy, sir, as usual." He stopped and the others got the distinct feeling that he had turned to face them. "That little brat was in here again. I tell you, the only person who visits me and it's some punk who gets kicks out of putting the encyclopedias in the wrong order. And this time she had someone helping her."

Carolyn furrowed her brow. "That doesn't sound like Sally, she wouldn't do such a thing."

"Quite right," added Gilbert sarcastically. "We all know she's an angel."

"Besides," Carolyn continued, oblivious to his mocking tone, "Emmaline's watching them. She's a very vigilant woman."

They could practically feel Milton's scowl. "Well, I'm telling you what I saw and—"

George cleared his throat. "Milton, who don't you read us some of your favorite sonnets, hmm?"

The whole library seemed to brighten. "Can I? Really? And I'll finally have an audience!" Grabbing a thick volume off the shelf, he cleared his throat. "I'm going to read my favorite Shakespearean sonnets. Oh course, that's all of them." He laughed. "Before I start, though, I just want to say that those jerks who think he didn't write all of those classics are complete morons. Now, I know some so-called scholars argue that…"

George slunk out of the room, leaving Carolyn and Gilbert. He almost felt guilty about leaving the singer. She really did seem like a sweet person, but Gilbert was getting on his nerves. The actor's criticizing comments almost made him wish he were alive so could hang himself again just to get away.

"George!"

He looked up at the sound of Myrriah's voice. "Greetings, Miss Harolds. To what do I owe the pleasure?" At her frown, he smiled his best smile, his blue eyes twinkling with only the deepest sincerity. It was a look he had practiced years to perfect.

"My phone, Gracey. You have it don't you?"

"Why I don't know what you're…" He backpedaled under her fierce glare. "It's in my office. Follow me." As they walked down the hallway, he said, "Being a ghost certainly left its mark on you; you've gotten scarier over the years."

She blushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. It was true that she had toughened up, and had even become more cynical. Years of doctors saying, "It's only going to get worse", "We can't do anything", and "You'll be in a wheelchair by your early thirties", will do that to a person. Well, that, and she was in a really, really bad mood. Trying to make up for it with a light hearted compliment, she said, "You're spiritual sentinels certainly sentry seriously."

"That must have been a tough sentence to say."

"It was, actually," she mused absentmindedly.

"And I've fired them three times this week. They just can't get it through their dead heads that they're not needed. I mean, why do I need guards? It's not like people are going to keep coming back anyway."

"Sir…are you _crying_?" She put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, no, I've just got…something in my eyes. That's all." After a moment of silence, he said, "I think this may be the end for us."

"But what about the new ghosts?"

"Gilbert hasn't been any help, all he does is complain and brag about the hotel. Carolyn has come up with a few ideas, but what's the point?" As he approached the office door, the guards immediately parted, allowing him to pass. They crowded in front of Myrriah threateningly. Before the executioner could lower his ax, George held up a hand. "She's with me." The mortal and the ghost entered the room.

The office was amazingly immaculate, save for some papers piled precariously on the edge of the desk. "What are all those?" Myrriah asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

George looked up from the drawer he was searching in. "Some of our happy haunts have asked if they can…"

"Retire from retirement?"

"Precisely." He opened another drawer. "I thought even if things were to slow down everyone would stick around. We're all like one big dead family. Even the hallway ghouls who just rattle door handles have written letters of resignation."

"Who's staying?"

"Victoria, she doesn't think I can take care of myself, you know. Ezra, Phineas, and Gus, are staying too. I thought they would be the first to leave, being hitchhiking ghosts. They're the most loyal friends I've ever had. Dustin's staying; he never cared much for scaring people anyway. Emily will probably leave, but only if we throw her a huge going away party and make a big deal out of it. Prudence will stay, because…well, she just doesn't care. Huet and Sewell have a good act going. They'll probably find some old tavern to haunt."

"What about Madam Leota?" The file cabinet was a luckless search.

He sighed. "It's my responsibility to keep an eye on her." Looking around they realized that the once clean office was in complete disarray. "I know I had it on my desk. I was just listening to the ring tones. I didn't even take it apart! That's a lot of self- restraint for me!"

Getting upset wasn't going to fix anything, and she would just feel embarrassed about it later. "I think," she said, keeping her tone level, "someone stole it."

"Who?"

"Little Leota was in here earlier."

George shook his head. "She wouldn't steal… well, your phone anyway. Believe it or not, she's been behaving better since her mother tried to escape thirteen years ago. It must have shocked her."

Myrriah remembered that L. L. had run through the doors. She wouldn't have been able to do that while holding a solid object. "I should go see if I can get my car started. Maybe I can drive as far as the next gas station." She cringed at the sound of thunder in the distance. "Or maybe I'll just wait here 'till the storm passes."

George caught a paper as it fluttered off the pile. "Hmm… this is a return form."

"Huh?"

"This is just a paper from one of our older residents. He left years ago to try haunting a hat shop. Hated to share the limelight, he did."

"Who?"

"An old spook named Sklar." George smiled at a fond memory. "That man knew how to scare. He might be just what we need."

"Great," Myrriah muttered. _No car, no phone, and the cereal just has bready bits without any marshmallows. _

"Look, I know someone who is having a worse day than you are." When Myrriah just cocked an eyebrow, George explained, "Dustin's down in the dumps after this morning's fiasco."

"He made a pass at Carolyn, didn't he?"

"And struck out miserably. The poor boy's a hopeless romantic, always has been."

"What would be so bad about the two of them dating? What's the harm?"

George arched his eyebrows and stared at her as if she made some sort of faux pas. "Rich girls don't marry poor boys, Miss Harolds."

She scowled. "Thank you for the lesson, F. Scott Fitzgerald. In case you didn't notice, it's the twenty-first century."

"Some of us are a bit stuck in our ways, I'm afraid. Besides, you've seen the way Gilbert looks at her. He's in love with her, and he sees Dustin as no more than dirt. If Dustin were to so much as smile at Carolyn, Gilbert would use that as an excuse to beat him into a little ectoplasmic pulp."

Myrriah felt anger flare within her, but it quickly subsided and was replaced with pity. "Thanks for helping me look for the phone. Uh, you need help cleaning up?"

George shook his head. "I'll clean the mess. I need some time alone to think anyway. If I may be so bold to ask, where are you going?"

"Misery loves company, Master Gracey."

"Ah, that's what I figured. I just wanted to make sure I was right." He flashed her a ghostly grin.

* * *

As Milton lectured on the importance of the structure of the Shakespearean sonnet, Gilbert and Carolyn slunk out. The librarian was so caught up in his speech that he failed to notice a particular book was missing.

* * *

Myrriah followed a duet of voices to the attic. It was certainly Emily and Dustin. To her amazement, it didn't seem as if they were arguing. From what she recalled, a shouting match usually erupted if you left the two of them alone together. The humble driver and the overly dramatic bride clashed constantly, one throwing out petty putdowns and the other responding with dry wit. Not knowing exactly why she did it, Myrriah knocked on the attic door.

"Come on in, Miss Harolds," Dustin called.

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked, stepping over a trunk with a suspicious bit of white cloth sticking out of it.

Emily scoffed. "No one else around here has any respect for my privacy." She flipped her white hair over her shoulder. Slowly and softly, her glowing heart was beating. It could be seen through her white wedding gown. For the first time, Myrriah wondered if maybe part of Emily's attitude problem came from having to listen to her heartbeat constantly. An eternity of hearing that was liable to make anyone grumpy.

The attic was just as cluttered and messy as Myrriah remembered it. A group of bats dozed in the corner. Old musical instruments, stacks of books, ancient newspapers, old paintings, and random junk cluttered the floor and walls. Dustin was sitting on a cardboard box across from Emily, who had claimed an old piano stool as her seat.

Standing up, the dead bride crossed her arms over her chest and cast an evaluating eye over the mortal. "You really haven't changed much, you know. I mean, you've grown up, obviously, but other than that…" She waved the rest of the observation away. "What's with the cane?"

"I just have some problems with my leg, it cramps up and gives out occasionally." She tried not to look at Dustin.

Emily nodded sympathetically. "Well, welcome back."

"Thanks." Myrriah cleared her throat. "I heard that Dustin was in a funk and thought he could use some cheering up." She smiled at Dustin, who was staring glumly at his feet.

The ghost glanced at him. "There's no breaking him out of it. I saw the whole thing from the window. Rolly threw Carolyn off and Gilbert ran out and said some harsh words. Then George didn't really make it any better. Poor Dustin just looked so pathetic that I invited him up here to talk to him. I mean, who knows better about a broken heart than me, right?" She chuckled hollowly.

"Wow, you're being nice to him."

"Oh, don't sound so shocked." She looked back at Dustin, and then at Myrriah. Grabbing the other woman's arm, she led her to a cobwebby corner. "I was thinking that maybe we could help him."

"Go on."

"With my incredible fashion sense and your…whatever, we can fix him up."

"You want to give him a makeover?" Myrriah asked skeptically.

"Sure, why not? Maybe if Carolyn would notice him, he would stop moping and get on with his afterlife. Plus, I'm really, really bord." Emily clasped her hands together. "Please?"

"Fine, but how? We need some good dead threads. Where are we going to find some that fit and suit him?"

"Right here, missy!" a voice called from the gloom.

Myrriah jumped with a yelp. "Who was that?"

Emily exhaled sharply, causing a stray hair to float up. She put her hands on her hips and tapped one foot impatiently. "It better not be who I think it is, or I will wring his scrawny neck for showing up here!"

"It's so wonderful to hear you're sweet voice again, Emily." The voice came from somewhere near Myrriah's feet. "Down here, missy," the voice said as she looked down.

All Myrriah saw was a big, old hatbox. "Don't tell me what I think is in there is really in there." Shuddering, she leaned down, untied the ribbon, and slowly took off the lid. A leering skeletal face peered back up at her.

The head winked a bulging eye and a gold tooth twinkled. "Call me Sklar, darlin'."

Emily fumed through gritted teeth. "That Hatbox Ghost!"

* * *

A/N: I sincerely apologize for taking so long to update this. I've had nasty writer's block with this story, and my Atlantis fic was going so well that most of my spare time was spent on that. Melanie Gracey, Jocelyn Angel, and alanluver, thanks for always taking the time to leave reviews and not giving up hope on this. Hi, Blue Paratroopa! Thanks for the kind reviews. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story so far. I hope you like my niche for the Hatbox Ghost.

The "rich girls don't marry poor boys" notion came from F. Scoot Fitzgerald's novel _The Great Gatsby_.


	7. Every Ghoul's Crazy About a Sharp Dresse

Every Ghoul's Crazy About a Sharp Dressed Man

Myrriah stared down at the grinning head in her hands. The bulging eyes and skull-like face reminded her of Ezra. "Uh, hi, Sklar," she said as nicely as possible as she felt vomit rise in her throat. "I know you must be getting a fabulous view of my nostrils, but do you have a body I could attach you to? This is kind of awkward."

He grinned, causing his gold tooth to sparkle. "Sure thing, doll." From amidst the shadows of the far corner of the attic, Myrriah could hear something shuffling towards them. Wobbling somewhat, due in part to short, bowlegged legs, Sklar's body staggered into the light. A twisted stick-like cane clutched in the left hand helped it stumble along. (Myrriah felt a pang of sympathy). Other than the usual pants and spats, he wore a long coat with large buttons and a billowing cloak with a sharp, high collar. Dustin jumped up from his seat in surprise as the headless ghost stumbled past.

Holding out his bony hands expectantly, the transparent form reached for its cranium. Myrriah carefully handed it over. After some quick adjustments and stretches, Sklar was in one piece. "Much obliged, darlin'."

Emily huffed. "What are you doing here? I thought you had left us for good."

"I," Sklar searched in a box until he pulled out an old top hat and then put it on, his stringy white hair sticking out in multiple directions, "heard that my good pal George was havin' some trouble rousing up hauntees, so I decided to come back and see if I could be of any help."

She pursed her lips and scowled at him, hands on her hips. "Well, for your information, we don't need your help! We have everything under control and our new Hollywood friends will make things the way they used to be."

He leaned forward on his cane, cackling hoarsely. "You mean that fancy pants pansy is going to save the Manor? Emily, that snot couldn't scare a mouse. The woman ain't no better. She's about as frightening as Dustin."

Dustin looked up and tried to think of some sort of comeback. Finally, he just shrugged and muttered, "Can't argue with the truth."

"Speaking of which," the hatbox ghost rubbed his chin, "I heard you're having some problems wooing this infatuation of yours. I can help."

"Uh, no thanks, really," the driver said.

"Here," Sklar pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Dustin.

"'Martin Sklar, fashioner designer and tailor extraordinaire'?"

"Where do you think I got these fancy duds?" He tugged on his huge collar. "I was the one who made Emily's dress. Pretty, ain't it?"

Emily pouted. "It's okay…I guess, considering I have to be stuck in it for all eternity."

Sklar smirked at her and then turned back to Dustin. "What do you say, Mr. D?"

"Um…" he mumbled. He looked up at Myrriah, who smiled and arched her eyebrows playfully. "Sure. Can't hurt, can it? After all," he added thoughtfully, "if you can make Emily look pretty, you should have no problem making me look a little dashing." He grinned good-naturedly at her frustrated cry of, "Hey!"

Sklar laughed. "Let's see what we can do for you…" Scowling thoughtfully, he surveyed his latest challenge. "Lose the duster…"

"I like the duster," Dustin said meekly as Sklar yanked off the coat.

"Lose the top hat…"

"I like the-Hey! Don't throw that!"

"The glasses can stay…"

"Obviously. How else would I see?"

"The tie and the vest with the white shirt…it's too old fashioned."

"I didn't die last year."

Myrriah stifled giggles behind her hand. "What do you want to go for? Something a little more modern?"

The designer grinned at her. "Exactly! When does the girl come from?"

Dustin furrowed his brow, confused. "California."

The other dead man shook his head, making it nearly fly off his neck. "Not 'where', 'when'. What era does she hail from?"

The mortal thought it over for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. "The late thirties." She looked Dustin over and then smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously. The smile turned into a broad grin and she laughed. "I have got the perfect idea!" she cried excitedly. "Sklar, come here. This would look so great on him!" She whispered into his ear. Dustin watched apprehensively as the man nodded with mutterings of, "Wonderful idea, darlin'!" and "Perfect!"

"It's been decided," declared Sklar as he took a tape measurer out of his pocket. "Let's get to work."

Emily glanced at Myrriah questioningly. "Are you positive you know what you're doing? I mean, it's going to take a _lot_ to make him look good."

Myrriah rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know what I'm doing. You act like he's completely hopeless."

Dustin yelped and started giggling as Sklar measured under his armpit. "That tickles!"

Smirking, Emily said, "I rest my case."

"Well," Myrriah smirked back and with a superior tone continued, "I guarantee he will win Carolyn's heart."

"And why is that?"

"Because," the young woman couldn't stop herself from grinning, "every ghoul's crazy about a sharp dressed man." When the bride just stared at her blankly, the smile vanished from Myrriah's face. "Nevermind."

Sklar hobbled past the two women and opened up a dusty trunk. Furiously, he threw bits of cloth over his shoulders. "Aha!" Triumphantly, he pulled out a long, wide portion of material. "'Scuse me, ladies." He tipped his hat to them before ambling back over to Dustin. The bespectacled spook seemed worried and just slightly terrified. The tailor/designer pulled out and pair of scissors, thread, and a needle out of some mysterious inner pocket of his cloak. "This'll only take a second." He turned his back to them and set to work sewing. Pieces of fabric flew out in every direction as the scissor blades snipped, causing everyone to shield their faces. The needle soared up and down almost too quickly for the eye to catch. Then he stopped.

Cackling like Dr. Frankenstein over his living creation, Sklar proclaimed, "It's a suit! It's a suit! Mwah-ha-ha-ha!"

"Yeah…" drawled Emily when Myrriah cocked an eyebrow questioningly. "He was always like that."

Shoving the outfit into Dustin's reluctant arms and grinning maniacally, Sklar said eagerly, "Try it on!"

Eyes wide with fear behind his lenses, Dustin stammered, "But there are ladies present!"

Frowning, the skull faced ghost pointed to a discarded dressing screen, perfect for just such an occasion.

"Oh," Dustin mumbled sheepishly as he disappeared behind the scrim. "You can't see me, right?" he called out nervously. Not even the outline of his form could be seen through the dusty screen.

Instead of suggesting he go invisible if he were so worried, Myrriah waited a few seconds until she thought he might have started undressing and hollered, "Cute butt!", making him shriek.

"I shudder to think what you are up to," Master Gracey joked as he stepped through the attic door.

"Just messing with Dustin's head," Myrriah explained.

"And here I thought you were trying to comfort him." George chuckled.

"Gracey!" Sklar greeted joyfully. "It's good to see those baby blues again." He snickered and shook George's hand.

"I see you've still got that same sense of style," George laughed, pointing to the gold tooth.

"Classy never goes out of fashion." He winked. "So what brings you up here?"

"I just wanted to let all of you know that in honor of our guests, we're having a party in the ballroom. We even got a band from the jazzy Tip Top Club to provide the entertainment."

"Sounds snazzy," said Myrriah. "Will there be food? I'm starving." She looked at him pleadingly, hands clasped together.

"Of course. I took the liberty to call in something for you."

"Thanks." _Wait… _She mulled over the sentence in her head. Something wasn't right…

"Well," George peeked at his pocket watch, "the party is starting, and they'll be expecting me. I'll see you all a little later." Before departing, he hissed into Myrriah's ear, "Remember what I told you, Ms. Harolds." He turned on his heel and left.

Before she could ponder what George had said, she was distracted as Dustin cleared his throat nervously. The three waited in anticipation as he stepped out behind the screen. Smiling shyly, he asked, "How do I look?" The zoot suit, Myrriah thought, couldn't have fitted him better. It was purple, with light pinstripes, and came complete with a feathered hat.

Emily's jaw dropped. Sklar coolly reached over and pushed it up.

Myrriah surveyed him with exaggerated criticism. "I say you're ready for—" Catching a minor detail he had forgotten, she hid a chuckle behind her fist and pretended to cough. "XYZ."

"Huh?"

Emily giggled.

Myrriah nonchalantly pointed to his crotch. "Examine your zi—"

"Oh!" Quickly, he turned back around and zipped up his pants. Then he turned back around. "Okay, now how do I look?"

"Now," Myrriah grinned, "you're ready to for the party."

"Good luck," wished Sklar as he held open the door for them. With an arm around each laughing woman, Dustin strutted out.

* * *

A/N: The chapter title is a play on a line from the Z. Z. Top song, "Sharp Dressed Man". 

Yep, Melanie Gracey, he's named after Marty Sklar.

A huge 'thank you' to everyone who has read the story and has taken the time to leave a review. I'm sorry it took so long to update. Please let me know what you think.


	8. That

That's the Way the Fortune Cookie Crumbles

Out from the depths of the fog and rain, a mammoth beast with two blazing white eyes crept forth, snaking its way to the mansion. It sputtered and hacked and coughed loudly, spewing white, translucent fumes into the air. Hardly visible through the mists were the old letters painted across the side of the rectangular shaped monster.

Skaggz Cruthers And His Big Band! As seen in the Tip Top Club at the Hollywood Tower Hotel!

Finally, with a rumble and a long whine, the tour bus slowly came to a stop, tipping over a bird-filled birdbath in the process. There was a brief pause.

"Did we hit somethin'?"

A little window slid open and a head poked out. "Yeah, Skaggz. We hit something."

"What?" asked the voice from inside.

"Birdbath. Again."

Another little pause. "They won't notice."

With a hissing release of air and the squeak of sliding rubber, the bus's door opened. A solid looking—as solid as a ghost could look, anyway—man stepped out. In his left hand he held a black trumpet case. With his other hand, he smoothed out any wrinkles in his blue suit. The raindrops went through the brim of his wide hat as he surveyed Gracey Manor. With a cocky grin, he looked back into the tour bus. "Let's get on with the show, boys!"

With tired groans and mumblings of "whatever", the rest of the band trudged out, travel weary. Like Cruthers, they all had instruments too, but their cases were patched in places. All wearing baggy suits and scuffed-up shoes, they filed out. It would not have killed Skaggz to let them nap for a couple of hours. Things could be worse, though. At least they were playing somewhere new. This gig would be a nice change of scenery, they agreed. After all, how similar could a dilapidated old, haunted mansion be to a dilapidated, old haunted hotel?

A band of ghostly minstrels consisting of a bagpiper, a drummer, a flute player, a harpist, and a man playing a long horn, sat in front of the front door. As the new band approached them, they hastily picked up crudely made signs. Painted on them were things like "STRIKE!" and "Dead Bands Treated Unfairly!"

"So the rich lad thinks he can replace us with this lot, does he?" demanded the bagpiper. "Let's give these guys what for!"

As one they chanted. "Two, four, six eight! Better treatment for the late! Three, five, nine, eleven! This isn't exactly our idea of Heaven! One, three, five, nine! Our musical skills are really fine!"

"Unfortunately," said Skaggz, "your protest chanting leaves something to be desired."

The drummer stepped forward. "We've been here a century! And we're not about to budge for you!"

"Yeah!" cried the flute player. "Replacing an old band like us? How can you live with yourselves?"

"We don't," Skaggz said simply. "We're dead." He pushed through them and into the house. The rest of his crew mumbled apologetically as they brushed past, telling the other band to keep at it, and that this whole thing was just temporary, and, by the by, were they interested in some jazz musicians joining them?

After the rest of the Big Band shuffled in, the drummer grabbed the flute out of the hands of the protesting musician. He smacked the back of the poor flutist's head with it. "'How can you live with yourselves?' That's the best you can come up with?" In return, the flute player shrugged apologetically. The group sighed, resumed their post by the door, and waited for the whole thing to blow over.

* * *

"Are you nervous?" Myrriah whispered into Dustin's ear. They were just outside of the ballroom, watching the band set up. At the table, Carolyn was chatting happily with Lily. George was suffering through another of Gilbert's lectures on how to really scare people. All around them, the other ghosts were talking, laughing, or pretending to be drunk from all of the wine they couldn't drink. 

"Nervous?" squeaked Dustin. "Me? Bloody nervous? Why the bloody hell would I be bloody nervous, I bloody well ask you?"

Always one to comfort, Emily said, "Because there's the enormous chance that you'll strike out miserably and spend the entirety of eternity heart broken, lonely, and too embarrassed to show your face ever again."

"Emily!" Myrriah snapped.

"What?" the bride asked innocently.

Myrriah rolled her eyes. To Dustin, she said, "Just go out there, say 'hi', and ask her to dance." She smiled encouragingly.

"Dance? You didn't say anything about dancing! I haven't danced in years. What if I step on her feet? Or she says no?"

"Just go!" Emily shoved him out onto the floor. After regaining his balance, he cautiously walked over to Carolyn. When he turned back to look at the two women, they grinned and gestured that he keep going. Out of the corner of her smiling mouth, Emily muttered, "He's going to crash and burn."

"You're being awfully negative considering this was all your idea," Myrriah muttered back, waving and wearing as happy a face as possible.

"I can't help it! I mean, he's really, really pathetic."

Dropping her arm, the mortal looked at the ghost. "For all he's done, he deserves our confidence and help. He seems to be one of the few genuine people here who isn't caught up in the gimmick."

"And that's bad?" asked Emily. "For some of us, being caught up in the gimmick is the only way to keep our minds off of more depressing matters. But you would know that, wouldn't you? After all, you were little 1,001."

"Yeah." Myrriah could feel her mind slip back into fond memories. Being a ghost had been fun. Causing mischief and scaring the daylights out of people was something she had been good at. Emily was right, though. It was something she had done to take her mind off of the guilt she had felt. "What," she asked softly, "are you avoiding?"

Emily gestured for them to sit at the table, and Myrriah complied. Her leg was starting to hurt anyway. She propped her cane up against her chair. Emily began. "Did you ever hear about how I died?"

Myrriah nodded. Dustin had told her. "Madam Leota locked you in the trunk, right?"

"Yeah." Emily picked at a lace sleeve absentmindedly. "She was jealous. Of Master Gracey and me I mean. We were going to be married. Before you start 'aw-ing' and gushing over me"—Myrriah didn't have the heart to tell Emily that 'aw-ing and gushing' hadn't even been on her mind—"you should know that it really wasn't a marriage of love. It was an arrangement, I guess you could call it, for money and land." She scoffed. "I was young and spoiled. I'm just as guilty as he is." She nodded her head towards George. "Why do you think it's never mentioned? Why do you think I keep changing my story? It's to entertain people, sure, but also because the truth is not much of a story. My death is tragic, yes, and I was young and beautiful and almost everyone loved me, but the tale of a dead bride who really didn't care much for her groom in the first place doesn't make for that great of a ghost story.

"Also," she leaned down closer, so no one else would hear, "it's embarrassing! George and I never say a word about it." She looked up at where he was sitting. Lily had slyly left Carolyn alone with Dustin and had joined George. "Besides, they make a much cuter couple, don't you think?" George laughed at some joke Lily had made and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She playfully smacked the back of his head with her parasol and then gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Before anymore could be said, there was a muffled "oof" from underneath the table. Myrriah looked down into Little Leota's face. The ghost had just materialized. "Hi," greeted the mortal. "What new game are you playing now, Guess What This Guest Stepped In?"

After chancing a quick look around, L. L. fully emerged. "Is she here?" she asked.

"Who?"

"She-who-must-not-be-named."

The blond blinked a few times in puzzlement. "Who?"

"Shirley Temple's evil twin."

Understanding dawned on Myrriah. "Ah, Sally? No. She seems like a sweet kid. What's so bad about her?"

"Oh, other than the fact she is the spawn of Satan and evil incarnate, not much. I left her in the library with Milton. She was really interested in some of the books. I figured it was as good of a chance as any to get away."

There was a tentative knock at the front door. "I'll get it," chirped Little Leota, grinning wickedly. Happily, she skipped away. Very slowly, she opened the door, making it creak loudly. A teenage boy stood on the porch, dripping wet, and clutching a bag full of cardboard containers with faux Chinese writing on them. A tag that read "Roger" was pinned crookedly on his short. Luckily for him, the band had retired to the graveyard. (Chances are, he wouldn't have been the type to donate to the "Dead Musicians Cause" anyway.) He was trembling, but whether it was from cold or fear, L. L. did not know. If it was not fear, it would be soon.

She stared at him.

"Uh, h-hello, little g-girl. Who's paying for this?"

She did not answer. She just stared.

"Is your mommy here?" He smiled nervously.

Her eyes bore into his.

"Little kid, you're freaking me out. You know, you look like a ghost. I'd swear I could see through you." A chuckle caught in his throat

Silently she stared, stone faced, without some much as blinking an eye or cracking a hint of a smile.

Fed up with the game, Roger called out, "Hello? I have the take-out you ordered. Who's going to pay?"

"Take-out?" asked a voice near his ear. "Chinese food? I love Chinese food!"

The boy turned to see a plump, smiling ghost standing beside him. Peeking into the bag, Phineas asked, "Are there any fortune cookies?"

There was no doubt in Roger's mind what the portly, bluish-greenish glowing man standing next to him was. He dropped the bag and bolted for his car. Phineas watched him speed away and then picked up the bag and walked inside. There was no point in letting good food go to waste. He could easily guess whom it was for.

* * *

"Would you like something to drink?" asked Dewey Todd as he walked by Myrriah. He held a tray with one goblet on it. 

"Thanks," she said, taking it. Without looking, she gulped, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was. Coughing, she put the glass down. "That's some old wine," she gasped.

"Vintage 1790. Good year."

"I'll say. I didn't think bellhops served drinks. Not that I'm not grateful, Todd," she quickly added.

"There's nothing better for me to do." Suddenly, an invisible being grabbed his arm. With amazing enthusiasm, Prudence suggested, "Let's dance! If we move our feet right, we can trip the rich folk!" Without protest, he let her drag him onto the dance floor. The band had started up, prompting the other ghosts to converge on the floor as well. Unlike the graveyard musicians, Mr. Baker the organist was enjoying his break. He was dancing with Victoria.

Phineas and Little Leota appeared in front of Myrriah with her food. Dropping the bag onto the table, the fat phantom said cheerfully, "One order of egg drop soup and a quart of chicken fried rice."

"Wow, George did take care of dinner," Myrriah muttered. Finally, the thought that had been nagging at the back of her mind made it's way to her mouth. "How was he able to call this in?"

"He probably just used the phone," answered Phineas.

"There's a phone here?"

"Yeah, it's in Leota's room."

Myrriah got up unsteadily. Even with her cane, she staggered. Shaking her head to clear it, she thought, _Maybe I drank that wine a little too quickly. _Phineas walked by her side, glancing worriedly at her occasionally.

"I can't believe George didn't tell me he had a phone!"

"You didn't ask, did you?"

"No," Myrriah admitted. She should have known that George was the sort who would not give anything unless it was specifically asked for. He could really be a jerk when he wanted to. Still, he should have—"Ow."

"There's a door," said Phineas.

"Yeah, I know, I just walked into it, thanks." Myrriah stood back and rubbed her nose. How could she not have noticed that? She reached down and opened it. Slipping inside the room, she closed the door behind her. Phineas stepped though.

The séance room was not as tranquil as it usually was. For the most part, it was just as Myrriah remembered it. Tapestries of unicorns, demons, and serpents hung on the walls. In the darkness, details were hard to make out. In the center of the room was a small, round table. No one sat in the red velvet high-backed chair next to it. A crystal ball, glowing bright green, sat in a little tarnished stand on the table. Within the crystal ball was a woman's head, which was currently yelling at two figures standing in the corner.

"Get out!" Madame Leota, the disembodied contact for the disembodied, screamed. "I'm trying to meditate!"

The two people Myrriah discerned in the gloom were Gus and Ezra. They stood in front of a table nearly half the size of the one Madame Leota sat on. On that table was her salvation.

"Just one more," said Ezra, picking up the phone. "Geeze, that woman wouldn't know a joke if it smacked her on the—" He stopped. "Er, head." He turned to his bearded friend. "Dial away, Gussie. Give me a challenge." The whirr and click of the rotary phone was heard. There was a brief pause as Ezra listened. "Hello? Albuquerque Baked Chicken? Yeah, I have a question about your premium meal mixed bucket." He tried to hold back a snigger. "Do you have plump thighs and juicy—"

Myrriah slammed down the phone.

"Hey!" Ezra cried. "What did you do that for? That was a classic!"

"I really need to use the phone." She picked it up. Peering down at the rotary unsurely, she spun it. Even though the room was dim, the numbers should not have been that blurry.

"You okay?" asked Gus. "Your pupils are huge." He made his eyes look gigantic in an imitation of her.

"I'm fine. Stop that. You look like a manga drawing." She turned her back to them, knowing that it was ridiculous since the concept of privacy did not exist to the three dead men. Holding her breath, she waited. One ring, then two, three, four… Suddenly, there was a little click as an answering machine message turned on.

"Hi, you've reached the Burton residence," said an all too familiar perky voice. "We're not in right now but if you—Paul, could you get Alex? She's crying. What do you mean the bottle isn't in the cupboard? What do you mean _I _lost it? Oh, for crying out loud—BEEP!"

"Hey, Court, it's Myrriah. If you're there, for the love of God pick up."

There was another click, this time of the phone being answered. "Hi! Where are you? We've been waiting for hours. Why haven't you called?"

"It's a long story." Her best friend's voice was reassuring. It was just so mundane, if somewhat shrill.

"Give me the summary."

"My car broke down and my cell phone's been misplaced by someone who shouldn't have had it. And you'll never guess where I've been staying."

"The Pop Century Resort?"

"Close. Gracey Manor." She held the phone away from her ear as Courtney squealed.

"Wow! How's everyone been? Can I say hi?"

With a sigh, Myrriah held the phone up as Courtney yelled, "Hey all you groovy ghouls!"

"Hi Courtney!" Phineas, Ezra, and Gus chorused.

Myrriah put the phone back to her ear. "I need you to pick me up if you can."

"Sure thing. Are you okay? You sound a little, uh, slurry. Have you taken your medication?"

"No." The room suddenly seemed to shift, tilting like a boat in a storm. Myrriah grabbed onto the table for support. "I'm fine, really. Just try to get here as soon as you can."

"Okay. Stay put. It shouldn't be too long until Paul and I get there."

"Thanks."

"Any time, _mi amiga_. Hey, Paul, get Alex into her car seat. We're going on a trip!" They both hung up at the same time.

As Myrriah staggered out of the séance chamber, Ezra asked, "Where're you going?"

"Room. Gotta lie down. Feel sick."

"Hmm," muttered Madame Leota thoughtfully as the door did not quite shut completely behind the young woman. "There are dark forces at work here."

"You mean other than you?" joked Ezra.

The medium glared at him. "I have decided that my quest for freedom has come to a stop for the time being. As you can see, I have accepted my defeat with as much dignity as possible."

"What are you talking about? You just stopped screaming about revenge last week."

She ignored him. "It is not I you should be worried about. Her fortune is grim, I fear."

"Speaking of which…" Phineas stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fortune cookie. Shamefully he admitted, "I swiped it." He opened the plastic wrapper and took out the sweet. He cracked it open, catching a little piece of parchment as it drifted out. After clearing his throat, he read it. "'A change of altitude is in your imminent future.' Huh, must mean 'attitude'."

"No," murmured the psychic, "I think 'altitude' is correct if what I foresee is true."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Gus.

Leota did not answer. Her face had disappeared into the swirling green mists of the crystal ball. Very faintly, her murmuring could be heard.

"Something's up, boys," Ezra declared. With authority, he pushed his derby forward. "We're going to find out what it is."

* * *

Myrriah could hear the arguing as she passed the ballroom. 

"How dare you dance with her, you despicable piece of dirt!"

"I have had enough of you, Mr. London! I'm sure Carolyn has too… She's gone! She ran away because of you!"

"Dustin," Master Gracey's voice interrupted, "calm down."

_Of course, _Myrriah thought bitterly, _it would be Dustin who should calm down, right? Not the rude guest! Can't offend the guest, can you George? _She reached her hand out and leaned against a wall as her vision swam. _Because making this whole haunted house tour thing work is more important than your friends, right?_

"I think, Mr. Gracey, that I've overstayed my welcome," snarled Gilbert. "There's nothing I could do for this pathetic tour of yours anyway. Cheerio, old sport," he spat.

"This is that Harolds girl's doing isn't it?" snapped George. "After I told her—"

Myrriah tuned out the rest as she stumbled into the guestroom. She didn't know whether to fall asleep or throw up. She nearly tripped on her coat. Had it been on the floor before? She couldn't remember. Poor Dustin. It had been her fault. What was she thinking, turning him into some kind of Cinderella? _Dustella._

The room spun. A voice cried, "Grab her!" Everything went dark.


	9. L L Hitches a Ride

L. L. Hitches a Ride

Little Leota watched. She was good at watching. She had seen many, many dreadful things in her life and afterlife that people had done that could get them into a lot of trouble. Oh, the stories she could tell. There was a lot of money to be had if she cared to be in the blackmailing business. But L. L. was not that sort of person.

Dead people did not need money.

This, however, was not something she thought she could keep quiet about. Scowling, her bright green eyes blazed as Emmaline, the mammoth nanny, dumped Myrriah's unconscious body into the ghostly limo's trunk. With hardly any force, Emmaline slammed the trunk lid down.

One of the tinted windows rolled down and Sally Shine stuck out her blond head. Little Leota became invisible and, for good measure, ducked behind the toppled birdbath. "Hurry up!" Sally shrieked. "Where are Gilbert and Carolyn?"

Gilbert stepped out of the front door and dashed down the steps, taking them two at a time. "Carolyn refuses to come with us. She's mad at me because of that little spat I had with the driver. It seems as if she's decided now of all times to grow a conscience." Scoffing, the actor slid into the passenger seat. "I knew she was the weakest of us from the start."

"And here I thought it was Dewey."

"Shut up, Sally," said Dewey.

The engine revved and the limousine began to slowly back out of the driveway. Stepping out from behind the broken bath, L. L. could feel panic rising in her chest. They would be gone in a second! She had no time to run in and tell the others.

She ran.

"I care…why? It isn't like she is a dear friend or anything." She sighed. But it was wrong, whatever they were doing. That was the point. Little Leota did not have very strong morals. After all, a woman who felt no guilt after murdering people raised her. Something in L. L.'s mind had snapped thirteen years ago, after her mother had broken free and had unleashed the forces of darkness upon the mansion and its inhabitants. They did not deserve to die in the first place, but to torture them so ruthlessly again was just despicable of her mother to do. She could not blame her mother for wanting to be free again, which was completely understandable. It was the whole "destroy all of the innocents" thing that L. L. found, after much contemplation, to be utterly and horribly immoral.

After Madame Leota had been put back into her prison, Little Leota had done a lot of thinking and had come to some conclusions. (1) She did not want to be exactly like her mother; (2) she had morals; (3) she also had a nagging conscience; (4)—

She jumped, barely missing the bumper and going through the trunk lid. "Hey!" she hissed, shaking Myrriah's arm. "Wake up!" The woman did not budge. Sighing, L. L. sat back and crossed her arms over her chest.

(4) She hated having morals and a conscience.

* * *

Dustin shoved his hands into his pockets as he dejectedly dragged his feet into the backyard cemetery. "Bloody brilliant, Dusty," he muttered. "Go and have a row with the guest and then with the master over a woman way out of your league." He groaned. "What was I thinking? I shouldn't have listened to—" He stopped. Someone was singing. It was a beautiful sound, melodic and haunting. Creeping around the gravestones, he finally discovered the source. 

Carolyn stood on a hill, watching the sun set. Her voice sent chills through him. He did not want to interrupt her, so he just stood back and let the song fill the night air.

Will I be remembered, A year after my death? 

_Will anyone know me,_

_After I take my last breath?_

_How can a stone,_

_A slate of gray,_

_Have everything about me_

_And what I wish to say?_

_How can I slumber peacefully_

_And dream death's dreams,_

_When what they know about me_

_Is far from what it seems?_

_What of me will they speak of?_

_My hopes and dreams, I'm sure._

_But are they ever gonna mention_

_Those things that made me not so pure?_

_Bad instances will not be spoken,_

_Out of respect for the dead,_

_But what I want remembered,_

_Is the truth instead._

Unable to contain himself any longer, Dustin exclaimed, "That was marvelous, Carolyn!"

With a gasp, she spun to face him. "What are you—Really? You think so? Gilbert never likes the songs I write. He thinks they're too morbid."

"Well, it wasn't exactly cheerful. But…" That weak confidence he always felt around her emerged again, making his doubt dissipate. He grasped her hands and looked into her eyes. "It was beautiful too."

She looked up at his honest emerald eyes. He really was such a sweet man. She felt as if she had used him. Who was she kidding? She had used him! She had used everyone here and now if she didn't tell him the truth—

"Dustin, I'm not who you think I am."

"What do you mean?" His smile wavered ever so slightly, as if he was preparing himself to not believe whatever it was she was going to tell him.

"Your friend is in danger."

* * *

Ezra knocked on the bedroom door. "Hey, Myrriah. Are you in there?" 

"Maybe she's asleep," suggested Phineas doubtfully.

The skeletal spook pounded with his fist. "Are you there?"

"OPEN UP!" Gus screamed and hit the door with his metal ball. Nothing happened.

"I don't like this," mumbled Phineas. "Something's wrong. I'd say I've got a bad feeling in my gut, but I don't have one."

"All right," announced Ezra, "we're coming in. If you're not decent…then, well, it'll be our lucky day then, won't it?"

"Ezra!" his friends chided, feigning shock.

"Please," he scoffed. "Since when were you two such prudes?" They stepped through the door.

The first thing they noticed was the complete lack of the mortal. The second was that her coat was on the floor. Myrriah was not a neat freak, but she was tidy. Also, given the fact that she had such a crappy car, chances were that she wasn't exactly rolling in dough, so she wouldn't want to ruin such a nice coat. Phineas bent down to pick it up and noticed something else. Two orange tubes were sticking out of the pocket. On closer inspection, he found out they were pill containers with the lids off. He picked them up.

"What's that?" asked Gus, sniffing the empty containers.

Before Phineas could answer, Dustin and Carolyn barged into the room. "We're too late!" cried the singer. "This is all my fault!"

"You know what's going on here?" asked Ezra.

As Carolyn began to reply, someone started sobbing. It was faint at first, but steadily growing louder. "Now what?" the skinniest groaned. The floating candelabra approached them, drooping forlornly.

"He's gone," moaned Prudence. "Dewey Todd left without even saying good bye to me! Right in the middle of the dance, he just suddenly ran away. I can't believe he'd do that to me! He was the only friend I ever had!"

Phineas snapped his fingers and his carpetbag appeared at his side. He reached into it and pulled out a handkerchief. Not knowing exactly where Prudence's hand was, he held it out in the general vicinity. Grateful, she snatched it and blew her nose loudly.

"Thanks," she said, handing the wet rag back to him.

Dry heaving, he put it back into his carpetbag.

Sniffling, Prudence continued. "He even helped me clean the rooms before the party." She peeked in. Actually, the other ghosts guessed she peeked in by the motion of the candles. "Hmm. He didn't do a good job with this one. He left the coat on the floor. Oh well. She probably won't even notice anyway."

"Wait," Phineas interjected. "The bellhop was in here?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Carolyn closed her eyes, a feeling of regret washing over her. "He drugged her."

"With what?" asked Dustin. "Carolyn, you still haven't explained why Myrriah is in trouble. Why would he drug her? Where is she?"

"I can answer the first question," said Phineas. He waved the little bottles. "Prescription pain killers and muscle relaxers. They're for that problem with her nerves. Our good buddy Dewey Todd must have emptied the remainders of them into the drink he served her."

Dustin slumped back, nearly falling through the wall. Carolyn caught him and pulled him up. "I didn't think she was doing that poorly," he mumbled. "She said it was nothing."

Ezra shrugged. "The kid's had it rough ever since she came out of the coma."

The tune of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" chimed through the house as the doorbell rang. George's voice could be heard as he said proudly, "Maybe we don't need that stuck-up snot after all. Welcome foolish—Ms. Carlson!"

Quickly, Dustin, Carolyn, Ezra, Phineas, and Gus, ran to the foyer. Prudence stayed behind to sulk and rip up some pillows.

* * *

"It's Mrs. Burton now," said Courtney, with that same playful smile she had thirteen years ago. Like Myrriah, not much had changed. She had grown up, of course, matured quite a bit, but that mischievous twinkle in her large hazel eyes had never left. That same sparkle could be seen in the eyes of her infant daughter, Alexandria, who was clutched in her arms. Courtney's thick, shoulder length light brown hair was styled nicely, as opposed to the "bed head" look she had sported as a kid. 

Paul was with her too, beaming as the ghosts "ooh-ed" and "aww-ed" over Alex. He had changed the most. Having to sprint after will o' the wisps and supposed fairies and spirits to get that perfect photo had shed most of the chubbiness. His face was still round, but now sported a thin, trim beard. He had, despite how contrary it was to his earlier beliefs, exchanged his thick glasses for contacts. His thick black hair was still as messy as always. Although, whether this was from the old habit or from being up and down with the baby, it was hard to tell.

"Whoa!" said Paul as Dustin approached. "Somebody got dragged into a zoot suit riot."

Courtney looked up, stifling a giggle. "Hi, Dustin. That's, uh, an interesting look for you."

"I miss my top hat and duster," the coachman admitted. The urge to welcome her and her husband back and gush over the baby was squelched by much more important matters. "Myrriah's missing."

"What?" asked Courtney. The ferocity in that little word could not be missed. Courtney was a goof, for sure, but when it came to her best friend—and now her new daughter—she was like a mother lioness. Mess with whomever she considered part of her brood and the claws came out.

"She was kidnapped."

"By who?" It was easy to imagine those pretty red lips curling back to reveal healthy pink gums and fangs.

Carolyn answered. "Sally Shine."

"Who is—"

"Evil child star. Look, we need to get to Hollywood and fast."

"Hollywood?" gasped Paul in disbelief. "I had to drive like a bat out of—" He looked at Alexandria. "H-E-Double hockey sticks to get here so quick. But it's only like a ninety-minute drive from our house to here. California is clear on the other side of the country! There's no way."

Dustin looked thoughtful as he looked out the window. Out front, he could see the ghostly tour bus. In the ballroom, the band was throwing a party. They wouldn't miss it. "Of course there is," he said.

"Don't say it," said Courtney.

"It's my line," warned George.

Dustin cocked his feathered hat coolly. "There's always my way."

* * *

Groggily, Myrriah woke up. She was lying on her back on cement. Slowly, she stood. Luckily, she had her cane. Whoever had abducted her was nice enough to leave her that. The dizziness she had felt was ebbing away, replaced by mere confusion. All around her were strange devices of some sort. It was too dark to really discern anything. 

"Are you okay?" asked a small voice beside her.

Myrriah looked down and to her right to see Little Leota. "I think so. Where are we? Some kind of boiler room?"

L. L. pursed her lips. "Close."

"How did we get here?"

"Emmaline just hefted you into the trunk of the limo. I followed. After we got to this place, I went invisible and she dumped you in here. I waited until you regained consciousness before reappearing so they wouldn't know I was with you."

"Oh," gushed Gilbert's voice. "We knew. Welcome to the Hollywood Tower Hotel, Ms. Harolds, Little Leota." Suddenly, all of the machinery around them started to spring to life. Myrriah could clearly now see thick cords as they began to unwind. Electricity shot up them like thin, azure snakes. "Or as we like to call it the Tower of Terror."

* * *

A/N: The song Carolyn sings was a poem I wrote for my creative writing class last year. 

"Zoot Suit Riot" was the name of a song by Cherry Poppin' Daddies. It was also the name of fights that broke out in the late thirties, but I won't go into that.


	10. Truth Be Told

Truth Be Told

"Yoink!" Dustin whispered triumphantly, snatching the keys to the bus. They had been sitting in Skaggz hat, which was laying on the table by his elbow. Skaggz was chatting with the divine Miss April in the ballroom while his band secretly signed contracts with the graveyard minstrels. Dustin almost felt guilty for taking the bus without asking permission first, but the feeling soon passed when he saw the look of anger and worry on Courtney's face.

"Let's go!" she cried, striding towards the front door.

Stepping in front of his wife, Paul declared, "Hold up! What about Alex? Maybe you should st--"

Looking down at her cooing daughter, she said, "You're right." She kissed Alex's forehead. "Take good care of her while I'm gone." Despite Paul's best efforts to babble out a "But I should go instead while you stay with her," Courtney ever so gently placed Alexandria in his arms. As the baby grasped her mother's finger, Courtney said, "You be a good girl for Daddy while Mommy saves her best friend from psycho dead actors, okay sweetie?" Alex burbled back a noncoherent reply, but her mother was sure that it went along the lines of, "Sure thing, Mommy! I love you! And I'll be sure to poop extra for Daddy!"

George, Paul, and Alex watched as Courtney, Dustin, and Carolyn got on the tour bus. Paul waved Alex's little fist as the huge vehicle pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. "I feel so terrible," confessed Paul.

"Why?" asked George. "Because your wife's best friend is in mortal danger?"

"No, because my daughter's only a month old and already she's had a messed-up childhood. But I feel pretty bad about Myrriah, too." He sniffed and looked down at Alex. "Uh-oh, sombody needs a changing," he announced in a sing-song voice. George just gave the mortal an odd look as the young man walked to his car to get the diaper bag.

The ghost's azure eyes scanned the overgrown lawn. "Well, the grass is looking nice and---Somebody knocked over my birdbath!" Before he could lay blame on anyone, he felt an odd tingling in his head, like an oncoming headache that couldn't decide which lobe to attack.

_George..._a voice called tauntingly. _George... We need to talk, George!_

Clutching his head, the spook staggered into the mansion. "Where are you going?" Paul called. After he finished cleaning Alex, he picked up the girl and dashed in after Gracey. "What's wrong, George? You don't look so good." Briefly, he thought this over. "I mean, for a dead guy, you don't look so good. A little more transparent than usual." He grinned.

Hair uncharacterisically messy, George turned to him. Voice dripping with sarcasam, he replied, "I'm being paged." Upon seeing Paul's confused expression, he sighed. "Walk this way."

Paul followed behind him, staggering in a perfect imitation of George's weary walk.

George rubbed his temples. "That kid is going to be the goofiest child on the planet." He walked through the seance room door. Thankfully, the mortal opened it before attempting to step through. The usual objects were floating around the room. There was something more violent about the movements of the flying instruments, though. The tamborine smacked into the drum, which in turn crashed into the harp. Erratic and annoying notes filled the air. "In a foul mood?" Gracey asked to growling head in the crystal ball.

"Would I call you if I was in a good mood?" Leota demanded. Swiveling around, the psychic turned to the aristocratic spirit and the young father. Her ruby red lips curled up into a sweet smirk. "Ah, Mr. Burton. It's been a long time."

Paul instinctively clutched Alex tighter. "Should we even be in here?" he asked George. "I mean, this woman nearly set the forces of evil loose upon the world!"

"Quiet you!" Leota snapped. She sighed. "George, as much as this pains me, I must come clean. You see, I'm responsible for the Hollywood ghosts being here."

"What are you talking about?" demanded George. "I put the ad out!"

"Yes, you did. But they weren't going to come." She lowered her voice, speaking in a mystical tone. "The ghosts of the Hollywood Tower Hotel are confined to it, until a week before the night of their deaths. It's part of their curse. For a week, ending on Halloween night, they can roam."

"So why did they come out here? How did you contact them?"

"I'll answer the latter first." She nodded to the phone.

"Oh."

"I convinced them to come to our mansion. They would help set me free in exchange for their own freedom. I just needed them to get my spell book."

George's shoulders sagged. "Sally must have taken it when she and Little Leota were in the library."

Leota nodded. "I told them I had a spell to work for them. I lied, of course. Who knows? I might actually have one that could work for all of them." If she had shoulders, she would have shrugged. "But," she turned serious again, "Sally has found one. There's a spell that would set her free, but it would require a sacrifice to take her place. And that sacrifice would be--"

"Ms. Harolds!"

"Yes. Sally has duped the others into believing that that one sacrifice will set them all free." She closed her eyes, a look of fury taking over her features. "My daughter is there! If Sally wants to bring someone with her, she'll sacrifice my daughter along with the mortal!"

George furrowed his brow in thought. "If you needed the book, why not have L. L. get it?"

Leota smirked. "She wouldn't bring it to me. She's got a stronger will than I do. You've taught her well."

"She's knows mutiny will not be tolerated in my mansion. The girl's a quick learner. L. L. is much more intelligent than you give her credit for." He smiled. "Dustin and Ms. Crossent are on their way."

Chuckling dryly, Leota retorted, "Oh yes, that nervous wreck of a driver and the spineless singer. Hmm." Once again, she closed her eyes, this time to concentrate. Hair floating with the movement, she tilted her head from side to side."Courtney is with them, and well as those three bumbling idiots."

Paul blinked in surprise. "I didn't even know they had left."

Gracey shrugged. "They're hitchhiking ghosts. Hopping unexpectedly into automobiles is their specialty."

"To be perfectly honest," the fortuneteller stated with an arched eyebrow, "I probably would have traded them for the freedom of the hotel ghosts. Honestly, who would miss those imbeciles?"

Looking back at the medium missing a body, the master said, "Me. Thank you, Madame Leota."

Grinning hopefully, she asked, "Do I get time off for good behavior?" If she had hands, they would have been clasped.

"Hmm, well considering something really terrible might happen because of you, no. Toodle-loo, Leota!" he called cheerfully and waved. With that, he led Paul out of the room. "I had a feeling she was up to something. She's been in a good mood. She was singing yesterday."

"What is the deal between you two?" Paul asked after George shut the door behind them. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had been a couple once."

George merely cocked an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Another story for another day perhaps, Mr. Burton. For now," he looked down at Alex, who was having trouble keeping her eyes open, "I believe there's a crib somewhere in here."

* * *

"You were going to WHAT?" cried Dustin.

Carolyn bit her lower lip and twirled a lock of her blond hair nervously. Ashamed, she sighed and said, "Sacrifice her. But I didn't want to do it! Sally came up with it! I was the only one who backed out of the plan. Originally, we were just going to trick some ghosts into going back with us."

The driver felt his heart sink as one question came to his mind. He knew the answer, but felt he had to ask anyway, no matter how much it hurt. "Which ghosts?"

"Well..." Carolyn stared out the window, feeling too guilty to look him in the eye. "To be honest, Dustin, you were our first pick. You just seemed so gullible and naive. I knew you liked me, so it would have been easy for me to lure you back." Tearing her gaze away from the glass, she sobbed, "I'm so sorry! I knew I couldn't do that to you! You're so sweet and kind and honest!" Looking back down at her lap, she muttered, "Everything I'm not."

Dustin glanced over at Carolyn. Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks. Holding onto the steering wheel with one hand, he wiped her tears away with the other. "I forgive you," he whispered.

Sniffling, she smiled and looked up. "Thank you. I really am sorry."

"Just curious, who were some of the others you had in mind?"

"Oh, those three grifters."

"Hey!" yelled an indignant voice from the backseat. "We 're not grifters! We're entrepreneurs!"

As one, Carolyn, Courtney, and Dustin turned around to see Ezra, Phineas, and Gus sitting in the back of the bus. "Where did you come from?" the one living person demanded.

"Well," began Phineas, "there's a theory that states that millions of years ago, we began evolving from single-celled organisms--"

"We hitch," Gus said simply. "It's what we do."

Turning her attention to the window, Courtney said, "We're making pretty good time."

Grinning in the rearview mirror, Dustin explained, "If one doesn't want to take the scenic route one just, well, does what we're doing now. Ghost vehicles don't have to obey the rules of the road."

"I gathered," Courtney mumbled, still staring downwards. The road whose rules they didn't have to obey was at least one hundred feet below them. "Ooh, look! A flock of seagulls!"

"Where?" Phineas asked. "I love that band!"

Shaking his head with a sigh, Dustin continued on. They were almost there. Unfortunately, he nearly sideswiped a jet carrying an aging eighties rock group in the process.

* * *

Myrriah was backed up against a wall of the maintence room with Gilbert standing threateningly in front of her and L. L. "I just know you'll love your stay here at our fine hotel." He watched her darting eyes. "Every possible exit is blocked and locked, my dear girls. Which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!" The actor cackled.

"Real original, buddy," Myrriah snarled. "If you think I'm going through with this nonsense, think again!"

"Well, really, what choice do you have? You're going to die in this place anyway. Might as well make it quick." After cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out, "Ready, Dewey?"

"Ready!" Somewhere near Myrriah's head, a little circle lit up and there was a little "ding" noise. Cobwebs covered whatever was glowing.

"I seriously doubt every means of escape is--Ahh!" The wall behind her opened up. She had been standing against a pair of elevator doors and hadn't even realized it, thanks to the darkness. Tumbling into the elevator, she saw Dewey the bellhop shimmer into being.

Pushing a button, he announced, ""Welcome to the Hollywood Tower hotel...we hope your stay is an uplifting one. If you should need anything, please drop in and give us a scream. We're dying to have you. Going up!" Myrriah tried to get up before the doors closed, but didn't make it in time. L. L., though, was able to jump in after her. Furiously, they both tugged at the doors and punched buttons. It was all in vain. The elevator began to ascend.

"Oh my god," Myrriah whispered, staggering back. Suddenly feeling weak, she slid to the floor. "I'm going to die. I really am going to die! I get brought back to life just to deal with all these freakin' problems for thirteen freakin' years, just to die again! In an elevator!" Burying her head in her arms, she started to cry. "There's no coming back from this one. It'll hurt, won't it? Hitting the floor and the ceiling like that? That's what they're going to do: Take the elevator up and then drop it." By now she was hysterical. "Maybe if I jump up at the right second, maybe if my feet aren't touching the floor when it hits... No, that wouldn't work! I'm going to di--"

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" L. L. screamed.

Suddenly, there was a loud groan of metal. The elevator slowed, and then stopped. "Blast!" Gilbert shouted from somewhere below. A little intercom in the elevator that had been playing old, ironically pleasant music, became silent. Then, Sally Shine's chipper voice chimed in. "I'm ever so sorry for the delay, but we are experiencing technical difficulties. Your elevator will be moving momentarily...momentarily to your demise! MWAH-HA-HA-HA!" It clicked off.

L. L. watched the sobbing young woman, anger bubbling to the surface. The little ghost was sick of the mortal's whining. "What happened to you? When did you start giving up so easily? You were the one who rallied everyone together when the mansion was about to be demolished! You were the one who kept a cool head! You were the one who came up with the plan! You were the one who rushed in to save your friend when my mother went all psycho! Now you're sittig here, crying? Oh, you're going to die. Boo-freaking-hoo! I'm dead. At least you got to live to be an adult." Sitting down next to Myrriah, she put a hand on her arm. "I know it's scary. I'm scared too. I don't want to watch you die an agonizing death. Shutting my eyes won't block out your screams."

Realization dawned on the woman. "You're right," she groaned. "It's not helping anything is it?"

"No," L. L. agreed flatly.

"I've been a real downer haven't I?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no!" Myrriah moaned. "I've gone emo!"

"And you're a bit of a Mary Sue, too."

Myrriah glared at Little Leota, and then looked up at you, dear reader, and then back at the dainty spirit. "Let's not go breaking the fourth wall, shall we?" With assistance from her trusty cane, she pushed herself up. "Now," she sniffed, "this place can't be too sturdy, right? There's got to be a way out, an emergency exit. Every elevator has one. It's usually in the ceiling." Just as she began to really examine the room, it lurched, sending her crashing to the floor.

The intercom turned back on and Sally gushed, "Hello again! We've located the problem and have fixed it. Enjoy your grisly death! Toodles!" With squeaks and shrieks, the machinery came back to life. Trying to ignore the rumbling underneath her, Myrriah asked, "Elevators only go up and down right?"

L. L. gave her a look that clearly said that she thought that Myrriah was the most stupid person she had ever met. "Yeah."

"Then why does it feel like we're moving forward?" She stood up and dusted herself off.

Furrowing her brow in confusion, L. L. said, "Because...we are?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." With a little "ding", the doors opened...

* * *

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get to. If you haven't yet, please read and review my new Haunted Mansion story, "Destiny at the Haunted Mansion"! 


	11. Rod Says Hi

Rod Says Hi

Dustin landed the tour bus roughly on the road in front of the hotel, jostling the others. Ezra had been hurled out of his seat. Lying face down on the floor, he mumbled, "Perfect landin', Dustbin! I give it a ten…out of fifty!" Using his palms he pushed himself up, pulling his lips off the floor with a loud _POP!_

"Not one of my smoother parking jobs," the driver grinned bashfully. He reached over and grabbed a lever, gave it a tug, and made the door swing open. "Thanks for flying Dust In the Wind Airlines!"

"Pfft!" Courtney scoffed as she smoothed down her hair. Her face was a nauseas tint of green. "That wasn't dust I left falling in the wind."

Louder than the grumbling coming from the back, Carolyn yelled, "Hurry! We haven't got much time!" She dashed out of the bus, with Dustin and Courtney right behind her. The hitchhikers brought up the rear of the line.

The Hollywood Tower Hotel was a rectangular, salmon colored building looming an imposing thirteen stories, standing tall and regal. A sign across the front of it flickered the name. The first and third 'O's as well as the last 'E' and first 'T' remained dull and unlit. Sparks shot out from the sign occasionally. On the front left side of the building was a huge scorch mark that extended just past the TOWER portion of the name. Bits of the salmon plaster had fallen off and the bricks that had been underneath prominently shown. The outside of the Gracey mansion, despite its toppled birdbath, wild roses, and unkempt lawn, was in a nicer condition.

"Do you see that?" Carolyn pointed as they passed through the iron gates. Dustin looked up from a bronze plaque he had been reading that stated "Est. 1927 A. D." She continued, without waiting for an answer from him. "There used to be a structure on the left front side there. It's where part of the elevator shaft was. It was struck by lightning and just vanished."

Peering at it, Dustin mumbled, "It almost looks as if it was torn off." His eyes catching a new detail, he asked, "That open space there, that's the elevator shaft, right?"

"Yes." She continued leading them up to the hotel doors. It was a maze of steamy gardens, with each patch of plants identified with a little bronze plaque. "I'm afraid that's where your friend is heading." She bit her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes. "This is such a disaster, and it's all my fault!"

Squelching the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dustin offered, "Well, at least you're trying to fix things now."

"Although it's probably too late and her guts are splattered everywhere," Phineas piped up.

"You're not helping!" Dustin, Carolyn, and Courtney all shouted at once.

"Well exsqueeze me for being a realist!"

Finally they approached the doors of the motel. The inside was cool and smelled musty, reeking of dust with a hint of mildew. A Persian rug, too faded and dirty for the pattern to be clearly seen, lay on the thin maroon carpet, leading from the door to a large counter. To the left of the entryway was an unfinished game of mahjong. At the very back of the room, was a large crest with "H. T. H." on it. Above it, wings spread and talons out, was the statue of a hawk. Beneath the bird was a fireplace.

"This is the lobby," Carolyn clarified.

Looking at a board covered in keys that adorned the wall behind the large counter, Ezra quipped, "Gee, ya think?"

Gus swung his chain, gathering momentum, then he let it go and flung himself behind the counter. He crashed into the wall, knocking down most of the keys. Jumping out of the pile, he waved one key triumphantly. "Found the sauna!" he cackled.

The one mortal in the group rolled her eyes. "Okay," demanded Courtney, "where do we go now?"

Suddenly, what had appeared to be a part of the wall slid open, revealing a small library.

"That looks like a clue."

The group entered the room and the hidden door closed. "Hmm," mused Courtney. "That's only slightly familiar. Dustin, I think you guys may have a lawsuit on your hands."

Like the gallery, the panel seemed to vanish back into the wall. This room had more in common with the Gracey attic than the stretching room, though. On one small table on the right side was a model of a ship. Above the bookshelves, cobweb covered bric-a-brac lined the walls. A glaring, golden-eyed bust watched from the left side of the room. Unlike the mansion's doorless chamber, though, this room did have a window. Through it, the group watched as the sky darkened and lightning flashed down from the clouds. Thunder crashed and everything went dark.

A small television set that had been sitting silently on a bookshelf flickered on. An outline of a plump man appeared on the black and white screen. Then a man walked into the outline, his profile matching it perfectly.

"Good evening," he began in a stuffy, nasal voice. "For tonight's show—"

The man was suddenly shoved aside. "This is my time, Alfie!" cried a much thinner man in a black tuxedo. "Shoo! Go away! And take your dumb line with you!" He grabbed the profile outline and tossed it off camera. Judging by the "Oof!" that followed, he hit the other host on the head.

The new host, Rod Serling, straightened his black tie. Then he let his arms fall and clasped his hands. As usual, his dark hair was immaculately combed and slicked down. "You're traveling through another dimension—a dimension not only of sight and sound but of—"

"Ooh!" cried Phineas. "_Night Gallery_! I love this show!"

Serling scowled at them. "I'm trying to give you some exposition, you twit! And it's not _Night Gallery! _It's _The Twilight Zone!_" Bongos and violins mysteriously played at the mention of the name.

"Oh!" Ezra exclaimed. "I remember that show! Wasn't there an episode where a psycho dressed as Santa tried to get into this woman's house, and she'd just killed her husband?"

"No, that was _Tales from the Crypt_," Phineas corrected. He brightened. "Can we get the Crypt Keeper instead? I like all those bad puns and his costumes."

"Please shut up!" screamed Courtney. "There are more pressing matters at hand, here!"

"Thank you," groaned Rod. He cleared his throat and continued, and as he spoke, he faded away to be replaced by an image of the lobby, but it was bustling with activity. "Hollywood, 1939, among the glitz and glamour—"

"They didn't have T. V's. then, did they?" asked Phineas. "I mean this is a little off time frame wise, isn't it?"

Unable to take any more of the nonsense, Dustin growled, "Please, just the essential facts! Our friend is in danger! We assume she's in one of the elevators!"

Somberly, Rod explained. "It was on Halloween night of that October that five passengers entered a common service elevator." The screen showed Carolyn, Sally, Emmaline, Dewey, and Gilbert standing in the elevator. It cut to the outside of the hotel, showing it get struck by lightning. When it showed the figures again, they trembled as electricity coursed through their bodies. The elevator dropped, zooming downward, but seemingly vanishing before it could crash.

Dustin put a reassuring hand on Carolyn's back as she tucked her face down against his shoulder, refusing to watch the replay of her death.

"These five passengers vanished." Rod once again appeared. "Trapped forever in…" The theme music played. "The Twilight Zone!" As lightning streaked across the window and thunder roared again, the television set turned off and the lights turned on. Another door opened and the group ran out.

o.O

They entered the basement, the same room where Myrriah had woken up. Around them, machinery hummed and electricity crackled. A discarded radio hissed out static filled songs from the thirties.

"Now what?" asked Ezra.

"Now you join your friend!" Dewey materialized and punched him in the face, sending him reeling back. Dazed, Ezra shook his head and staggered back up.

Phineas came up behind the bellhop and slammed his carpetbag against him, making him tumble. "Don't hit him, you little geek!"

Then Emmaline smacked Phineas with her own huge purse. She was promptly knocked down with a blow from Gus's ball and chain. "Yay for blunt objects!" cried the dwarf.

Meanwhile, Gilbert had picked a fight with Dustin. He disappeared and reappeared around him, dodging every punch the coachman threw. "Your precious Master Gracey can't save you now!" He smacked Dustin on the back of his head and then vanished as the bespectacled spook whirled around.

Courtney and Carolyn were trying to figure out how to stop the elevator. The sign above the doors that showed which floor the elevator was on was lit, its arrow indicator flipping back and forth spastically. "There has to be some kind of emergency stop button, right?" cried the mortal.

"Actually, there's a lever," a high-pitched voice said helpfully. The two turned to see Sally Shine, holding the brake in one hand and a book in the other. The little red tome had no title on the cover. "But it seems to have been experiencing some technical difficulties." She swung the lever at Courtney, but the young woman ducked in time and the break hit the wall and stuck.

As Sally grunted and tugged at her would-be weapon, Courtney snatched the book from her grasp. Flipping through, she found something promising and quick. Sally rushed at her and she spit the verse out quickly.

"Wind and rain, slip 'n' slide…Who writes this stuff? Send the mortal to the outside!" Rather than poofing Myrriah safely to the hotel grounds, Courtney was transported. "AW CRAP!" She realized when she looked down that she was teleported sans book. "MONKEY FUDGER!"

o.O

Myrriah and Little Leota watched, their curiosity almost equal to their fear. The doors had opened and all around them were shades of hotel rooms, a glimpse of the Hollywood Tower Hotel in its glorious past. The elevator continued moving forward, taking them down a short hall. Around them, various objects floated by. A clock with a spinning hand, a large eyeball that opened, a marionette…

"Well," Myrriah mused, "this is trippy. If you ever wondered what pain killer induced dreams were like, they're sorta along these lines."

Lightning flashed in front of them and the doors closed again. Darkness surrounded them and the room lurched up. After its short ascent, it came to a sudden stop.

"I've got a really bad feeling," moaned L. L.

The elevator dropped.

Both girls floated up towards the ceiling, screaming. The elevator stopped and they hit the floor. It whooshed up again, the G forces pushing them down. A little _ding _sounded off and everything halted. The doors opened, showing the hotel grounds. Myrriah looked out to see the plants, the paths, and…

"COURTNEY!"

The brunette looked up. She had been pounding on the doors, trying to get in. At some point, they had been mysteriously—mysteriously meaning someone blonde and evil-- locked. "MYRRIAH!" she screamed. "Hang on!" Whatever smart comment Myrriah had to that was lost as the elevator shut and dropped again.

Bracing herself in the corner as they dropped, Myrriah shouted, "I've got an idea!"

"What?" L. L. hovered near the ceiling.

"Those doors have got to open again like that, right?"

"No, not really! It could have been a one time thing!"

Stop. "Oof!" Rise.

"If it does, I'm jumping!"

"I thought you didn't want to die!"

"Exactly!"

As Myrriah had predicted, the doors opened again, showing a tantalizing view of the gardens. Bruised and battered, she clutched her cane and staggered. She only had a second…

"You're not serious!"

Myrriah jumped. It probably wasn't the greatest plan she had ever had. Actually, it was downright stupid. But it was better than being flung from ceiling to floor repeatedly, right? Maybe the plants could break her fall and she'd come out with only a broken spine…

Her cane snagged on something. Looking up, she saw the handle had caught onto the bottom of the unlit third 'O' in the Hollywood Tower Hotel neon sign. Heart pounding, she tightened her grip. "Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygawd!"

Waving her arms, Courtney shouted again, "Hang on!"

"No duh!" Myrriah shouted back, weaving from side to side.

Searching around frantically for something to help, Courtney spotted a billboard. "West Coast 'Copters!" Whipping her cell phone out of her coat pocket, she quickly dialed.

Taking a cue from the blond, L. L. had jumped out as well. Floating beside Myrriah, she joked, "You look like that poster with the kitten." Dodging a kick from the mortal, the spirit snapped, "I'm going to help you!"

"Really? What should I do?"

"Hang in there!" She flew past Myrriah and down and back into the hotel.

o.O

Giggling gleefully, Sally watched the arrow above the elevator as it moved closer and closer to the basement 'B'. Once again, she was clutching Leota's speel book. "They should be getting back right about…" _Ding! _"…now!"

With a gasp, the fighting ghosts stopped and watched as the doors slowly opened. What Dustin had expected to see, he wasn't sure. A mangled body and a new ghost, perhaps. But he smiled when he saw nothing.

"What!" Sally shrieked, running to the elevator and peeking in. "Is this some kind of joke! Where are they? They need to be here so I can send their spirits to the Twilighty Zoney place!" Stamping a foot, she screeched, "This isn't fair!"

L. L. flew in through the wall and tackled the tantrum-throwing brat. Sitting on top of her, she punched her face. "Seems pretty fair on my end." Then she grabbed her throat and repeatedly smacked her head on the floor.

Watching the girls wrestle and beat the ectoplasm out of each other, the hitchhikers hooted and cheered.

"Kitten fight!" hooted Gus.

"Hey, E," asked Phineas, "as the responsible adults, shouldn't we break this up?"

"Are you kiddin'? This is freakin' hilarious!" He smirked. "And since when were we responsible adults?"

Bending Sally's thumb back and biting her wrist, L. L. tore the book from her grasp. "You stupid brat! How dare you think you could handle this kind of power!" Springing up, she distanced herself away from Sally, but not before getting in a good kick in the ribs.

"What—what are you doing!" Gilbert demanded, his hands on Dustin's shirt collar. The driver took the opportunity to vanish and grab Gilbert's arms and pin them behind his back. "Let me go, Dirtbin!"

"That's Dustbin! Er, Dustin!" Dustin growled. "No, _Mr. Dust_ to you!"

Carolyn and Gus held back Emmaline and Phineas and Ezra sat on Dewey.

With a smirk, L. L. began to read aloud a spell.

"Ghoulies and ghosties this Zone has spat out,

Take back the entire horrible lout!

Put them where they belong,

As soon as I finish this song!"

"It's not really a song," Phineas whispered into Ezra's ear.

"Yeah, it doesn't even have a chorus—Oh!" A fierce gale whipped around the basement. The two hitchhikers were tossed off of the bellhop as he was torn out from under them. A sickly green light surrounded him and he was sucked into the elevator. Before he could even think of running back out, a green film like shield covered the doorway, keeping him inside.

Emmaline followed, then Gilbert, and then Sally. She kicked and spit and screamed and clawed at the air. "NO! NO! I CAN'T GO BACK! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! THIS ISN'T FAIR!"

Hugging Carolyn close to him, Dustin murmured, "I won't let you go. You don't belong with them."

Looking up at him with her pale blue eyes, she said sadly, "That's not really up to you to decide." She kissed his cheek. "I'm going to miss you, Dustin." The singer was pulled out of his arms and he reached out, grabbing in vain as she floated back towards an elevator.

Unlike the other elevator, though, this one filled with an intense white light. Running forward, Dustin had to cover his eyes. She smiled that wonderful smile that had ignited his crush on her.

"Where—" he began.

Carolyn put a finger on his lips to quiet him. "You're right. I don't belong with them." She gave him one last hug and planted a light kiss on his lips. "Thank you." The doors shut, a brilliant blue light emanating from out of the cracks and then the elevator soared upwards.

"Good bye," Dustin whispered.

"Wait," cried Dewey, "if she's going up, where are we—" The group of malevolent ghosts suddenly plunged. "AAAHHHHH!"

Clapping L. L. on the back, Ezra congratulated, "You did good, kid."

Dustin looked around the room. "Where's Myrriah?"

"Oh my gosh!" Little Leota shouted and she ran out with the others at her heels.

o.O

"Courtney! Courtney! My arms are killing me!" the myopic mortal yelled.

"Just a few more seconds!" her friend called back.

Right on cue, a loud thumping, like a frantic heartbeat, could be heard in the near distance. Leaves were twirled and the breeze was sent into a chaotic spin as the small helicopter approached.

"I don't believe it," Myrriah murmured.

From inside of the whirlybird, her older brother Cody saluted. "How'd you get yourself into this mess, sis?"

Frowning, she shouted back, "Does that really matter right now? Save me!"

Flying as close to her as he could, he tilted the helicopter onto its side, giving her an open invitation. Pushing aside thoughts of what could happen if she fell into the blades or missed completely, she swung forward and let go of the cane. Crashing into Cody's side, she let the tears she's been holding back fall. "I thought I was going to die!" Sniffing, she said, "I'd hug you, but my arms are like noodles right now."

Keeping one hand on the steering stick and putting the other around his sister, Cody grinned. "Whoa! You've got to tell me how you pulled that Jackie Chan stunt back there!"

"Cody, it's not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but what are you doing flying a helicopter?"

"Cool, huh?" He grinned boyishly, his long blond bangs falling in his eyes. "Well, I wanted to be a surfer here on the West coast, you know that." She nodded. "But after that squid accident with poor Reggie, I couldn't bring myself to ride the curls anymore. So I took some flying lessons. Got my license this afternoon. Ain't it great!"

"TREE, CODY! TREE!"

He steered out of the way in time. "Anyway, your pal Court gave me a call. Imagine my surprise when I found out my little sister was in SoCal and I didn't even know! Are you on some vacation? Meet a guy on myspace and decided to fly out for a rendezvous?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No," she laughed. "It's a long story. Why don't you drop me off down there by the bus and I'll catch a ride back home."

"Okay, but promise you'll send a letter explaining all this." He landed as skillfully as Dustin had. "And tell Mom and Dad I said 'Hi!' when you see them!"

"Will do!" Summoning up enough strength, she gave him a hug. "Thanks Cody!" She carefully stepped out and Courtney rushed by her side to help.

"No prob, sis! Hey Court! Thanks for the call!"

Waving, the friends watched as the helicopter soared upwards and away, becoming a weaving speck in the distance. "Boy this day has been weird," Courtney huffed.

"You weren't even there for half of it. C'mon, let's head home."

Supporting her friend, Courtney got her to the bus. "I warn you, Dustin's not the greatest pilot."

"Anything's better than that elevator." She blinked. "Pilot?"

"How do you think we got here so fast? By driving?"

The coachman was already waiting for them onboard. Upon seeing Myrriah's weary face, he smiled. "Welcome aboard Dust In the Wind Airlines! Glad to have you back, kiddo."

"Great to be back. You don't serve peanuts on this flight, do you?" Myrriah asked, stretching out across a few seats in the back.

"No peanuts," said Phineas. "But the gum under the seat's pretty good."

o.O

Of course once everyone got back, George's aunt Victoria had to throw a party. Paul was sure to get plenty of pictures of dancing ghosts. Accompanying an article he would write for the Supernatural Geographic, they would provide just the advertisement Gracey needed to bring in new guests.

Myrriah had been treated to a few goodies. George had found a sturdy, intricately carved cane, adorned with ghoulish faces and serpents to replace the one presumably still dangling from the dull 'O'. After arriving back to the mansion, Phineas, Ezra, and Gus had rushed off. Within the hour, they had come back, driving an old hearse that had been abandoned in a junkyard. (That was their story anyway. Myrriah would be sure to check and see if any funeral homes were missing a vehicle.)

George had quickly hidden Leota's book, not telling another soul where it was kept.

In the ballroom, spirits spun in time as Mr. Baker the organist, the graveyard band, and the singing busts performed "Hotel California." (Skaggz's band was passed out on various couches.) Courtney and Paul slow danced, making sure to keep an eye on Alex. The baby was dozing in a wicker carrier while Emily fawned over her.

As Lily and George waltzed, the mistress asked, "Have you seen Nathaniel lately, George?"

Azure eyes sparkling knowingly, Master Gracey answered innocently, "Nope."

o.O

Meanwhile, Sally and her comrades fumed and grumbled at their bleak surroundings.

"This bites!" the child star pouted.

"Well, it can't get any worse, can it?" snapped Gilbert.

Then the alligator attacked.

o.O

Trying out her new cane, Myrriah limped out of the party and onto an adjoining balcony. Leaning against the cement railing, she gazed at the stars. After the bizarre day she had, this calm moment was a needed comfort.

"Hi," a soft voice said.

Myrriah turned and smiled wearily at Dustin. "Hi."

They watched the stars for a bit longer before Dustin spoke up again. "I'm sorry for what happened to you today."

"Not your fault." Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she blushed. "Thanks for coming to my rescue. Heh, sorry I had to be such a damsel in distress."

"You were anything but. Even the best of us can be taken advantage of." Staring down at his hands, he mumbled, "I certainly was." He sighed.

"I know you miss her. Maybe you'll be together again someday."

Dustin shook his head. "I liked her, I won't lie about that. But it's probably better this way. Perhaps we will meet again, but for now, I'm stuck here. Fate, I suppose."

"Maybe destiny."

"Hmm?"

"Destiny. It has a nicer ring to it. Fate just sounds like you're flung into something and you can't do anything about it. Destiny just sounds more positive, has a more 'happily ever after' quality to it."

"So you think I'll find my destiny here, hmm?"

She grinned. "Who do I look like, Madame Leota?" Smile and tone softening, she added, "I can't promise anything, but I can say this. You are a wonderful person, Dustin T. Dust. Fate—"

"Destiny," he corrected.

"Destiny is kind. She brings to those who love."

"That sounds familiar. Where did you get it?"

She shrugged. "Probably a Disney movie." She waved it away.

Dustin laughed. "You know, no matter how much you've grown, I think I'll always see that little girl with the huge glasses."

"Gee, thanks!" She tried to shove him, but her hand went through his shoulder. "Thinking of ever going back to your old duster and top hat?"

Looking down at himself, Dustin was suddenly reminded that he was wearing a zoot suit. "I'd forgotten about this. Ick! Yeah, I'll get my old clothes back from the attic. This just isn't me." Toying with the feather on his hat, he asked, "What are you plans, then? Are you going home?"

"Yeah. I'll probably stay with Court and Paulie for a bit, then head back home. I can't leave the shop closed for too long."

"Is it popular?"

"No, but if I don't stop in from time to time, the silverfish bugs take over and make condos out of the books." They both chuckled.

From inside the ballroom, Courtney shouted, "We're heading out, My! Are you following us?"

Turning to her friend, Myrriah answered, "Yeah." She gave Dustin one last hug. "Good night, Mr. Dust," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, her cane going _tap _with each step she took.

Dustin smiled as he watched the retreating young woman and then put his emerald green gaze on the cosmos. Destiny. He liked the sound of that.

o.O

A/N: Thus concludes "A TERRORible Haunting." I send out a very big heartfelt thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read this story, and all of those people who kept an eye on it and encouraged me to continue. I know this story took so long for me to finish, and for that I apologize. Thank you again, everyone!


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